


Chaos in Order

by Ezlebe



Series: Fracture/Foundation [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Force-Sensitive Hux, Formalwear, Gen, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sharp yelp and a series of shouts follow the small explosion, but Hux barely reacts with more than a short, disinterested sigh when glass circumvents him against an intangible barrier. He does slowly turn to look at Ren, lifting a single brow even as he sets his own empty glass on the tray of a panicked serving droid.</p><p>Ah, so much for not looking a fool. </p><p>“I don’t know what I expected,” Dameron mutters, huffing quietly and taking a giant swig of the pilfered drink as if to hide it.</p><p>(sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5860852">Order in Chaos</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, I could not think of a single clever thing to name it. /covers face in shame/ Kylo is the chaos and Hux is the order, so it sort of makes sense with the... Themes. 
> 
> I guess.
> 
> Also, smut is largely at the end if you'd like to skip it.

Ren has consciously avoided the Core worlds in the time since he absconded, uneager to set foot in a place he recalls little good of even apart from Ben, and is unsurprised and disgusted in equal measure to find Coruscant virtually unaffected by the horrors suffered by other parts of the Galaxy. The apathy here is so much that when Hux and Ren step off the shuttle and are accosted by no less than twenty forms of media, half of them welcome Ren back as that revolting prodigal son they treated him as a child rather than a slaughterer of thousands. A particularly moronic journalist even dares to ask Ren about his mother’s opinions of his accomplishments under the newly

 established Order.

If not for that ill-advised treaty, then perhaps Ren could have avoided ever returning here. Instead, Hux agreed to all of this moronic pomp for the sake of _political security_.

Now, as if to add insult to injury, Ren is suffering being stuffed into some hawkish trend of formal attire against his will, made of an entirely too tight and stiff fabric that barely allows him to move his arms above his shoulders. He already thoroughly hates it, and wants to rip it off his body and burn it to shreds just to see this stupid designer cry. He wants to grab the small, flying droid that keeps pinching his sides, pricking his shoulders with barbaric pins, and crush it into a sparking ball of scrap.

Ren particularly wants to do all of this because it would make Hux absolutely furious, since he dares to be comfortable in similar garb after being stuck in an equally stifling uniform the entirety of his life. Hux is even thinking about commissioning the designer for the new Order uniforms and forcing them on the Knights, which is an entirely upsetting prospect.

Admittedly, it is not that the ensemble Hux wears is unbecoming, with a jacket that bafflingly lacks clasps and a crimson-seamed belt that looks almost like a combat whip, only that it looks entirely too suitable for him. It even lacks any of the vain padding Hux usually employs in public attire, and Ren thinks if he reached out, he could easily span his hands around that thin waist.

“Ren,” Hux says, glancing up from his data-pad with an unamused raise of his brow. “I can hear you thinking. What did we say about that?”

“ _I_ said the exercise was stupid,” Ren says, glaring back even as he feels embarrassment settle into the hollow of his stomach. “Meaningless at this point.”

Hux narrows his eyes, frowning slightly as he stows the data-pad in a hidden pocket. The designer has found him a pair of black leather gloves, shoving them at him before rushing off again, and he pulls them on with a mildly delighted sense of interest. “I couldn’t care what you think, Ren, just that you do it.”

Ren barely resists the urge to return the words with a snarl, and instead, bitterly and against his better judgment, focuses on masking his own thoughts. He wants to argue about it again, to try to convince Hux different, but bitterly realizes the futility. Hux has held steadfast on the point since the confrontation with Snoke.

He had even forced Ren to ask his mother about it in nearly the same moment that the fighting had settled on D’Qar, at an ill-timed point when Ren had still been mostly confused and strangely sore. Even she had been visibly reluctant, only begrudgingly describing it in the least helpful manner imaginable: a short metaphor about ambient starship noise, and how he must be sure his subconscious thoughts are equally consistent.

But how could Ren possibly control his _sub_ conscious?

The only way he has managed it, discerned only through a short series of unrecognized slurs against Hux, is a constant stream of absent observations, which feel like they do little more than make him more paranoid and constantly ready to battle. It doesn’t even block out Hux from Ren, only the other way around, and even then it only ‘turns him down to null’, which seems to mean little more than that Hux knows Ren is alive.

The entire exercise is wasted effort, exhausting Ren for little more than Hux’s obsession. He still isn’t entirely sure what happened during the fight with Snoke, but they are here and he is little more than charred cinders, so what does it matter that Ren can master this skill?

“I do not understand why I must to continue it here,” Ren says, resentfully confirming the ambiguous strength of the block with a few derisive, unspoken insults against Hux’s judgment, then drawing from a few obscurely steady thoughts to reign himself from doing anything more permanently regretful.

“I gave you an ultimatum,” Hux says, looking to Ren with a critical, unforgiving scoff. He folds his hands behind his back, raising an eyebrow, “It is not my fault you keep failing; you’ve had nearly ten days.”

Ren doesn’t care that he keeps failing, the sting of it having faded days ago to the ache of feeling overlooked, and he shouldn’t be forced to keep doing this because of this sudden fixation. His own damnable mind keeps coming up with other reasons Hux must be forcing him to do this, even if Ren knows none of them to be true.

(What if Hux has already grown tired of Ren’s mind, only weeks after gaining the ability to comprehend it so thoroughly?

What if listening to his thoughts is even more painful than his emotions?

What if, now that Hux has full authority over the other Knights, he wants one of _them_? He had nearly smiled at Girare a few days ago, seemingly appreciating her habitual diffidence.)

“Come now, don’t make that face,” Hux says, drawing Ren out of his thoughts and forcing him to look up with a pair of gloved fingers against his chin. He is wryly amused, and believes Ren is simply being petulant.

Ren ignores the urge to grind his teeth, and simply attempts to make his scowl into a more neutral line. “Fine.”

“It’s only twenty-four hours,” Hux says, stepping away and looking out toward the city, staring at the large Old Republic Senate building. He thinks it is ugly. “Skywalker once kept it up for weeks, I’ve heard.”

Ren feels his lips return to a scowl, but doesn’t actively disagree; he has memory of that particular incident, or at least the event that led to it. His mother had been more furious than Ren had ever seen, or seen since, and had torn apart her entire office with frightening ease before realizing Ren was even in the room. It was also the only time he can remember her apologizing, pulling him close as she whispered platitudes into his hair.

He still doesn’t truly know what it had been about, but even now believes that it had been about him. The fights around that time usually were.

“I have to face that make-shift Republic in less than an hour,” Hux says, pulling at his sleeves as he turns on his heel to look at Ren with a twitch of a grimace. He exhales, eyes wandering to the far end of the shop. “It will do good to have a quiet mind.”

Ren ignores a hollow, baseless pain in his chest, and shrugs back shortly as he struggles to keep his expression blank. Hux has been eager for days to exercise his power against the minds of the more influential representatives, so quietude will be largely impossible. He just wants to placate Ren.

The designer reappears with a small tool clutched in an equally small hand and approaches Ren, swiftly stitching up the droid’s work and fixing a few lost stitches along his waist and arms. They nod a short moment later, eyes narrowed for a scant moment before stepping back and glancing up with a wide approximation of a grin. They clasp their hands together, “I never thought I’d be dressing _you_. It is an honor, Prince Ben.”

“ _Lord Ren,”_ Ren snaps, feeling a discomforting crawl up the back of his neck. He is becoming reacquainted with his shallower loathing for the Core worlds, as obsessed as they were with his dull parents and their dull lives, and knows he is doubtlessly now doomed to suffer the media invasion all over again as an adult. He now hates his face even more; wishes he had changed his brow or his nose or his lips, anything that would ensure no one ever recognized him. Dermal manipulators were cheap enough, he could –

“If you call him that again, you will not be paid,” Hux says, his voice a comforting wave of scathing rebuke. He is second-guessing his intentions to commission their work. “Or worse.”

The designer frowns with shame, fuzzy brow nearly covering their eyes completely, “My deepest apologies. I did not know you changed names after disappearance.”

“I did not disappear,” Ren says, frowning hard and forcing himself to stop gnawing at his lip. He runs a hand through his hair, ignoring Hux’s short frown as a few curls fall over his face, “I started wearing a mask.”

“Shame, shame,” the designer says, shaking their head as they toddle to a small stool, and then up to a desk before turning around to reveal a floor-length mirror with a practiced flourish. “Good you stopped, see?”

Ren almost answers with an outright snarl, old frustration curling into his mind, except his eyes catch hard on his own reflection; the image startles him enough to momentarily forget the anger. It’s nothing like he is used to seeing of himself: neither an awkward boy nor a ghoulish man.

He slowly lifts a hand to trace his fingers down the silken crimson piping of the jacket, circling his neck and then closing at his hip with a subtle clasp. The jacket itself is tight from waist to shoulder, accenting his shape in a manner that isn’t unflattering, but entirely uncomfortable; the pants are similarly fitted, but that can be forgiven as they hold a loop for his saber and taper off perfectly inside of the boots he had fought tooth and nail to wear. His eyes flick sideways when Hux comes to stand next to him, and he swallows tightly at the image they present: black and red, tall and strong.

Any who see Hux or Ren will know exactly where they come from, and to what they belong.

Hux reaches up and taps at the small crimson chain that binds the jacket collar, humming a pleasant approval that make Ren’s breath catch. “Very inspired, Dauga. I may forgive you for that earlier indiscretion.”

“Thank you, sir,” the designer chirps, bowing just slightly with both hands at their back.

~

The inauguration, as expected, is a painfully pompous affair of speeches and venomous smiles into holocams. The Core worlds on their own have been infighting for countless millennia, and on a scale that makes the Order seem like a particularly violent spec, committing horrifying and unspeakable crimes, but ultimately only replacing the destroyed rival.

Ren wants nothing more than to commit a horrible, unspeakable crime right now, if just to escape the stares, but judging by the sidelong looks from his mother it would lead to worse than a prison cell. He is still uncertain of her motivations, but not of her power. The only relief is that she is not nearly as vicious as Hux, who would have disposed of them both back on Ryloth.

Instead, Ren tunes most of the speeches out, even Hux’s rather misleading address involving the Order’s cooperation with the New (Newer?) Republic, and focuses his concentration on the gathered crowd of media and social elite, feeling for any ill-intended onlookers. It would be a prime opportunity for violence, with Hux exposed and wide open on a lifted dais; the infamy at stake with every move captured on a live feed.

Ren could foil anything without looking, of course, but it is easier to stave off boredom by staring out across the crowd and focusing on every suspicious movement. His eyes catch on a wandering Togruta, but a short extension of Force reveals they are simply doing a similar job as he, though without the supercilious partner with a recent past in genocide.

Even in the midst of his own address, Hux is still categorizing his fellow attendants’ reactions for a later, more demagogic speech, and the constant second-hand murmur between various minds is almost as grating on Ren as the lack of response to his own. A few minutes later, Hux settles back at Ren’s side, giving the unfriendly crowd little more than a disinterested smirk as literally hundreds of holocams follow his every move.

Ren has no idea how Hux manages to dwell on forty things at once and also act so outwardly attentive, only knows that it is absolutely maddening. It had been particularly irksome during the construction of Starkiller, when Hux’s mind had been little more than a mess of bewildering numbers and mechanical frustration that had followed Ren across the Galaxy, yet still forced him to argue with that same arrogant expression and superior tone whenever he wanted just a little leeway. He spares a thought to dread the next project, math and design shoving in alongside the newer thoughts of political machinations, then bitterly realizes that Hux might now not even make time for him.

He startles slightly when an elbow hits his chest, forcing him to blink and realize that the ceremony has largely concluded with the way every audience member and delegate is politely clapping. Many of the officials and their guards have already turned to exit into a wide intermediate hall, leaving Ren to look like an amateur to the basic procedure.

He worries some about the block with how he’s allowed his mind to wander, but assumes, somewhat gloomily, that it must still be up. He spent most of his thoughts practically nitpicking Hux’s most innate character, but there isn't a single hint of annoyance toward Ren going through Hux’s mind as he glances out across the wide crowd.

The hall is lined with entirely too many Republic guards, all at attention and obviously unsure if a threat resides within the representatives or out in the crowd. More than a few of them are actively watching Ren, eyes boring holes as they wait for him to start something against any one of the other representatives. He sneers at the one closest, a rutian twi’lek, just to watch them flinch and raise their weapon.

“You seemed to finally realized an effective method,” Hux says, voice low as he leans in closely and curls a hand at Ren’s back. “Or has your mind finally given up on itself after suffering through these fools’ speeches?”

“No,” Ren says, glancing sideways and straightening his shoulders when he notices a representative giving an unsubtle stare. “Not yet.”

Hux tuts lowly, sighing heavily enough that his breath is warm against Ren’s ear. “Pity for you.”

“Why?” Ren says, eyebrows pinching together just slightly in bewilderment.

“I only wish I had the option,” Hux says, leaning back and away from Ren with a quick shrug, mouth forming into a thin line of discontent.

~

The social event post the media-mongering is an unpleasant abyss of bitterness and fake laughter, and the only valuable impact is that it is easier for Ren to block his mind by filling it with constant observations of revulsion. The representatives settle into the old habits of their forebears quickly enough, alternating between throwing themselves at the feet of each other, then gossiping behind backs with their aides and consorts. His mother is in attendance as well, though he has only seen a few glimpses of her, and he ignores the crawling up his throat at the thought that she doesn’t care to be seen with him.

Her opinion is of little import to him.

Hux is inwardly as on edge as Ren, though it isn’t obvious by the way he holds his head high and speaks in measured tones with the goal of attracting a few specific officials. It makes him already a perfect match to the rest of them: aloof and uncaring, while underneath liking nothing more than to raze the place.

Ren stays by Hux’s side until it becomes too much: too many dishonest voices, too many inconsiderate touches, too many thoughts trying to beat into his mind. He has never been content to mingle in this unrelenting, toxic environment, even when he was a child, and he would do the same now as he did then if it weren’t for how much he would rather not appear the fool. Hux would never indulge Ren as an excuse to leave, like his parents once had, holding far too much pride in his representation of the Order.

Hux, for his part, reacts to the departure immediately, narrowed eyes following with a barb of frustration, but soon he is distracted as a representative advances on him, and the concern is subsequently shifted behind thoughts of resource acquisition. He clearly expects Ren will be back in moments, but Ren allows himself to be petty and vindictive and resolves to stay away from the middle of the party for as long as possible.

He plucks a small glass off of a tray as he walks and backs into a visually-advantageous corner, while refusing to acknowledge certain loud, foreign minds that threaten to make themselves clear by virtue of consistently mentioning his name. He exhales low in attempt to calm himself as he stares down at rising bubbles, counting each pop as it releases small, sweet smelling particles at the surface of the glass. He doesn’t much appreciate the taste of any alcohol, but if he looks pensive and interested in it, then the other attendants seem assume him drunk and make a barrier.

All except one.

Ren sighs, letting his shoulders slump as much as they can in the confining jacket. “What are you even doing here?”

"I had to move away from _that_ ," Dameron says, gesturing with his glass to the other side of the stateroom, where an aide dressed in little more than sparkling sequins pouts at Dameron. They are objectively beautiful, feathers sparkling in the light, but it seems Dameron would rather stand next to an old enemy than brave their clawed fingers.

Ren blinks, feeling his mouth threaten to twitch upward. "Would you like me to find out on my own?"

“Really, already threatening me?” Dameron says, glancing upward with a narrow sneer for a few moments before his shoulders fall, and he looks down to his drink with a sigh. "Fine. I'm your mom's date."

Ren frowns, reaching out and searching for some hint of a joke only to feel the bottom fall out of his stomach and his eyes widen. The Force is never wrong, but right now it must be, because –

"Oh no! Not - no, no," Dameron says, practically sloshing his drink down his front in his rather physical denial. "Not like that – do _not_ stab me. I’m a date, but not a _date_. I think I’m technically an aide."

"It is none of my concern," Ren says, feeling the words scrape out of his throat like sandpaper. He takes a deep breath, "I have no reason to care."

"I'm being serious," Dameron says, shifting sideways nervously and biting on his lip. He glances up at Ren, then down again, "She thought I... She noticed I was kind of down."

Ren narrows his eyes and concentrates just in time to catch the dull flicker of memory as it flashes through Dameron’s mind: an odd perspective around a corner of the scavenger and the traitor. He hums low, reluctantly understanding, "Emotionally."

"Yes, man, obviously," Dameron says, scoffing low under his breath and then slumping over his glass. "Anyway, she thought that a swanky party would help, but… It kind of isn't."

"Your worry is unfounded, I… I think… It…” Ren pauses, looking back to the center of room when an odd strike of concern comes from Hux. Ren blinks in confusion when all he finds is Hux glancing at him, then frowns slightly when Hux swiftly looks back to the colorfully-dressed representative speaking to him. Ren inhales, all too aware of Dameron still watching, “They’re young. Inexperienced from little more than the holonet. You should consider that they might appreciate you as a teacher.” 

Dameron’s faltering churn of mortification is reward enough for being forced to voice something so unpleasant, and Ren carefully keeps his mouth straight when Dameron begins to audibly sputter, "What it is wrong with you?! You can’t just – just _say_ that – !”

Ren shrugs, glancing sideways and trying to catch Hux’s eyes again – frustratingly, he seems not to be paying attention. Ren watches for a few seconds longer, eyes following attentively as Hux lifts a hand to skim his fingers under that tight collar, and Ren suddenly finds himself concerned with finding the reason for it. Hux hasn’t criticized the heat or the fabric, so it’s doubtfully something physical. He seems mostly concerned with the conversation he is having with Calrissian – could he be attempting to garner her attention?

“Are you drunk?” Dameron says, voice rising sharply in pitch.

"No," Ren says, frowning slightly and then glancing down to his still-full glass. He grimaces at the small cloud that is now hovering over the brim, tipping the glass to allow some of it to drift out.

Dameron stares for a long moment, then very, very hesitantly dares to reach forward and pluck Ren's glass from his mostly lax fingers. "I'm taking this and getting your General - Imperator, whatever. You’re staying in the building, right?"

"You will not,” Ren says, narrowing his eyes and quickly stopping Dameron's feet with an easy thought.

“Let me go,” Dameron says, voice going low and an admirable imitation of stern. He is not scared, exactly, but nor is he calm. He even thinks about throwing both the stolen drink and the dregs of his own in Ren’s face.

“No,” Ren says, giving him a sneer and a narrow look. He crosses his arms, then refuses to wince as a seam digs into his side. “You will be staying until I can be sure you won’t be a moron. It may prove to be forever.”

Dameron glares, mouth going tight with anger. He keeps it up for almost an entire two minutes longer, before his eyes abruptly lose their gleam and shift sideways in obvious distraction. He frowns, leaning forward just slightly and lowering his voice, “The Corellians keep looking over.”

“I am aware,” Ren says, determinedly keeping his eyes on Dameron even as he invokes the Force to peruse the minds of the attempted eavesdroppers. They still seem caught up in the same trivial conversation, though some of their thoughts have expanded to include Hux, and even Dameron.

Dameron raises an eyebrow, his anger disappearing behind a voracious sense of curiosity. “Why?”

Ren wants nothing more to ignore them, as he always had, but… It’s unlikely Dameron doesn't already feel the same on some deeper level. He will probably also bully Ren until he speaks, and Ren is no longer allowed to alter his mind. “They are disappointed.”

“In who – you?” Dameron says, glancing to the group again in a decidedly unsubtle manner. He still doesn’t understand, somehow, or maybe he just wants Ren to be forced to say it. “What did you do? Aside from the obvious.”

“I did nothing. They expected me to age… More symmetrically,” Ren says, borrowing a word that he often caught from the less cruel critics of his bone structure. He’d been catching on to it all since he was a child, though to their credit, most had never actually _said_ it to him. “Han Solo was from their planet, so they hold some unwarranted affection toward him. The one in the red is particularly unkind. She thinks the old rumor of my mother and Skywalker – ”

“O _ka_ y, got it!” Dameron interrupts, exhaling hard as his expression twists into a disgusted grimace aimed the group’s direction. “That… That is really rude.”

“It isn’t particularly original,” Ren says, swallowing hard and glancing again to the middle of the room, eager to find some distraction.

Calrissian has moved on, but in her place is a representative from Ganthel: a tall, smirking, not unattractive human with a surprising control on his thoughts, who only allows the barest of his intentions past when Ren arbitrarily scans over them. He also keeps leaning into Hux’s space, lightly touching his shoulder with an affected laugh and sliding fingers down to his elbow.  

Ren feels his teeth begin to grind; how dare this stranger think himself worthy to touch Hux? He will snap every knuckle on that presumptuous hand.

“And what does Senator Fondle over there think he’s doing?” Dameron says, attention shifting in the same direction as Ren’s. He grimaces when the representative makes a move to run a hand down the front of Hux’s chest in a decidedly flirtatious manner, and seems to realize quick enough how Ren feels about it by the way he tries to shift backward. “Could you let me go before you kill him? I don’t want to have to explain to General Organa why I let it happen.”

“He thinks Hux is just a figurehead for the true leader,” Ren says, mouth pinching into a frown as he ungently delves further into the representative’s mind. He sneers at the paltry impetus he finds behind the man’s sharp smile and daring hands. “And that he is remarkably slight and young; his hair exotic. Weak to flattery and charm.”

Dameron hums low, almost a groan. “Why is everyone in this room an ass?”

Ren pointedly disregards Dameron’s whining, scraping his lip with his teeth and then glancing down to the drink in the man’s hand. He exhales slowly, pushing a short pulse into the center of the glass until he feels it begin to stress.

A sharp yelp and a series of shouts follow the small explosion, but Hux barely reacts with more than a short, disinterested sigh when glass circumvents him against intangible barrier. He does slowly turn to look at Ren, lifting a single brow even as he sets his own empty glass on the tray of a panicked serving droid.

Ah, so much for not looking a fool.

“I don’ t know what I expected,” Dameron mutters, huffing quietly and then taking a giant swig of the pilfered drink as if to hide it.

“You can go now,” Ren says, straightening up and pushing off the wall. He ignores Dameron’s dry rejoinder and slips between the shifting crowd, quickly finding his place at Hux’s side.

The representative cradles his bloody hand, exhaling in quick, horrified breaths as he stares down at it. His gaze shifts up a moment later, glancing over Ren and then quickly turning his pained sneer at Hux, “If you don’t get your dog under control, someone might try to do it for you.”

“I would love to see them try,” Hux says, his voice smooth like glass and a dry smirk alighting on his lips as he glances to Ren. He is strangely pleased despite the circumstances. “Wouldn’t you, Lord Ren?”

A few guards have approached, practically shaking as they find Ren at the center of the crowd, even with armed blasters held tightly in their hands. The leader gestures quickly to hold them back, wisely waiting for the situation to escalate or resolve itself. Apparently, fear undermines duty.

The representative tries to step into Hux’s space with a snarl, only to grunt in surprise when Ren stops him from moving more than a few centimeters. He exhales angrily instead, mouth curling, “Your Order is not in a position to make threats.”

“You’re the only one doing that,” Hux says, a disingenuous laugh escaping his mouth in the same breath. He lifts a hand and sets it just between Ren’s shoulders, fingers curling near the back of his neck. “You realize I did not have Lord Ren do worse, even when you _thought_ such unkind things about my legitimacy.”

The man’s eyes flicker to Ren and then back to Hux, a pinched frown forming on his lips as he realizes too late that his assumptions wildly underestimated Hux’s true authority. He takes a short breath, then exhales as he tips his head down to the floor, “My apologies, I was disrespectful.”

“Accepted, Representative Djoal,” Hux says, his voice taking on a loftier tone as he glances down at the hand. “I believe you should find a med-droid.”

“Yes,” Djoal says, nodding as he takes a few clumsy steps back. He nearly runs right over Ren’s mother, who appears just as he begins to retreat, and Djoal inhales sharply in shock when his eyes catch sight of her, shoulders hunching further over his hand as he hurries to the exit.

Each of the guards’ eyes dart between her and Ren, before they bow slightly in tandem and drift away after Djoal. A suspicious inquiry into their minds reveals that they are all under the moronic impression that his mother has arrived to do their job for them.

Ren scowls, tripping the leader with a short gesture and watching them fall into a hors d’oeuvre waiter, who then spills a tray of patisserie all over a group of Felucians. They squawk and titter angrily, causing a new commotion that diverts much of the crowd’s fickle attention.

“Organa,” Hux says, exhaling in a short scoff and losing his aloof expression behind a scowl.

“This is a not a First Order party, Hux,” Organa says, her mouth tipped in a frustrated frown. It is missing an edge that would make it truly reprimanding, and her eyes carry little weight of irritation. “You shouldn’t exercise your power just because you can.”

Ren frowns, almost correcting her that it had been _his_ power to cause the disturbance, but then glances sideways at the exit hall when he realizes too late that Djoal’s sudden fear had been nothing like natural. The main curiosity now is the fact that Hux could have done that at the very moment Djoal approached, but instead he… Didn’t?

“I hate to tell you this, Organa, as it is something of a private failing, but I have never attended a party prior to this illustrious event,” Hux says, a note of sarcastic incredulity filtering into his tone. His mind flashes with a singular, vague impression of an informal celebration, some event that he had not been invited to attend. “My impression of how this should be going is from a certain young boy who was often forgiven for worse.”

Organa’s mouth tips sideways and she looks to Ren with a skeptical glance, only to suddenly frown with an odd narrowing of her eyes. “Are you doing that for me?”

Ren blinks back for a puzzled moment, before shaking his head slightly as he slowly remembers the block is also effective against her. He bites back a complaint as Hux’s hand slides off his back, leaving behind a dull chill, and ignores the hollow in his chest when Hux moves away. Ren can practically hear the Corellians now, their petty judgment catching and digging into his mind with barbed hooks.

Organa turns back to Hux an instant later, her eyes narrowing in accusation. “Is it wise to practice that now?”  

Hux inhales sharply and glares at Organa, an odd image of spiraling black and a sensation of cold flashing across his mind before quickly being replaced by clearly deliberate pedestrian irritation. “Anyone could be here.”

Ren frowns, setting a hand on his hip near his saber and trying to catch an impression of who _anyone_ could be, thinking first they must be someone who means Hux harm. He glances to the sides of the room, but most are merely gossiping about his family’s continuing lack of decorum.

A few moments of constant observation later, another impression fully forms that Hux actually meant someone could be a threat to _Ren_. He believes someone here might have something like Snoke’s Force capabilities, which is so ridiculous that Ren would almost laugh if Hux weren’t frustratingly sincere about it. A question that’s been gnawing at Ren for nearly two weeks has finally been answered, but rather than relieved, he just feels frustrated.

Now that Ren knows the thoughts to look for, they are painfully evident as they flicker constantly through Hux’s mind, between the social machinations and the Order business and the ever present strategic contingencies, his fear is sunk in deep. Ren tries not to let the shame overtake him – how hadn’t he noticed?

Organa frowns, her eyes taking an unusually soft glint that might be pity. She glances to Ren with the same sort of emotion, then concentrates back on Hux, “Not even you deserve to be this needlessly cruel to yourself.”

“I do,” Hux says, his outer mood changing rapidly to reflect his inner as he practically snarls in her face. The angry thoughts quickly overshadow the fearful, so easily it must be from deliberate practice. “You’re lucky there is nothing I can do to you.”

“Careful,” Organa says, lifting her chin as she sets her mouth in a firm line. “I am not your enemy.”

Ren nearly scoffs outright, the only thing preventing it an old reflex of respect, and he looks over her to find Dameron slinking through the party to sidle in at Organa’s side. He lingers behind as if not truly wanting in on the discussion, but judging by his raised eyebrows and tilted chin, he's willing to sacrifice some detachment for gossip.

Hux narrows his eyes, leaning in with a low voice and a sneer. “Last I checked, you were still part of _everyone,_ Organa.”

“Perhaps,” Organa says, looking again up at Ren as her brow furrows with obvious frustration.

It almost seems like Organa is now just as irritated at Ren as she is Hux, but he’s done nothing… Well, aside from injuring that representative, but it’s hardly the first time he has done something like that at an event like this one. He remembers plainly being little older than six and destroying a chandelier that a cruel old woman was foolishly standing under while tactlessly insulting his mother. In fact, rather than punishment, Ben had earned little more than a wink and a smile from… From Solo for doing it.

Han Solo hadn’t minded when Ben did a lot of things.

“…Ren?” Hux says, something strange in his expression shadowing his face as his mind scatters into a few hundred theories. The most prevalent is that he thinks Ren is going to side with his mother, but behind that is his rising distress for insisting on the block at all when it keeps causing him to be caught off guard.

“Nothing,” Ren says, settling his mouth into a deliberately pouting scowl and looking away. It is less difficult than it should be for him to find the mental space for it, but perhaps if he acts more mysteriously melancholy, then Hux will allow him to drop the exercise for good.

The crowd seems to relax all at once an instant later, and a twi’lek even approaches Organa to speak about some new trade route. Dameron looks terribly disappointed, sighing heavily and dragging his feet as he follows along when the twi’lek bodily drags Ren’s very, very visibly irritated mother toward another group.

Ren feels his mouth twist sideways in confusion, then abruptly downward in irritation. He hates that it takes him a few seconds to recognize when Hux has done something with the Force; it sets him worrying about how much his mother has ever done.

“Drop it,” Hux says, his voice low as he looks to Ren. He wears a small grimace as he speaks with clear resignation, “Now. I’m tired of it.”

Ren raises his eyebrows, resisting the urge to say something mocking regarding Hux’s endurance. “It’s only been  – “

“Ren,” Hux says, interrupting with a short snap and lifting his chin. He has an odd, unfamiliar tone of pleading as he repeats the request in his mind, and it settles so comfortably against the lingering fear that Ren can barely tolerate it.

He resists only a moment longer before he compels his mind to stop concentrating on every little observance that passes through his awareness, and the effect is almost immediate. It lasted nearly five hours, the longest he has ever managed it in one session, and now he suffers an odd, intangible ache in the back of his mind, similar to when he relaxes an overworked muscle.

Hux seems to feel it too, a soft exhale the most prevalent evidence of his relief. He also inadvertently reveals that he loathes being blocked nearly as much as Ren hates doing it, which calls into question his supposedly infallible judgment over the past week.

“Oh, shut up,” Hux mutters, speaking softly and closing his eyes. His brow furrows a few seconds later, mood piquing without warning as his eyes snap back open to stare hard into Ren’s. He holds steady for a long few moments, though after a moment he doesn’t seem to actually be looking at Ren, and a sharp, definitely audible wail strikes through the air.

The uproar lasts barely an instant, but it’s long enough for the event guards to reappear, brandishing blasters at the empty air and visibly confused when they find nothing. The squad leader eyes Ren for a long moment, and their chin is tipped up suspiciously even as they slink back into the shadows.

Ren glances back to Hux for only a moment before he turns on his heel to look toward the dark corner, eyes widening as he catches the Corellians suddenly whimpering quietly into their glasses and hors d’oeuvres. A quick invasion of their rattled minds reveals their thoughts to be mostly of baseless fear and a wracking adrenalin; a strong enough reaction that it drives them to tears.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Ren says, watching them for a few moments longer before exhaling slowly and turning back to Hux. “My mother is probably furious.”

“Yes, I know,” Hux says, leaning in to Ren’s side with a hand settling warm and steady on his hip. He is outright smirking, careless about the criticism and only concerned with the result. “If Organa doesn’t approve, then she should not have given me that useful little book.”

“I think she believed you had more restraint. For some reason,” Ren says, humming low and trying to ignore the heat that seems to be spreading across his body from the small point of contact. Hux is never so affectionate, even with the recent developments in their bond, and Ren can barely think straight when a hand slides across the small of his back.

He's inadvertently brought out of the reverie by a short giggle from a neighboring group, and then notices a sudden wealth of stares in their direction. The regular slew of slurs against Hux on the holonet are about to take a turn firmly into pettier territory, and a low rage builds up in the back of Ren’s mind.

“I couldn’t care less,” Hux mutters, his voice sarcastic and smug against Ren’s neck. He lifts his other hand and, with a decidedly odd gentleness, slips one of Ren’s more errant curls behind his ear. “Due to that habit for hiding your face, many of these sycophants are unaware of your more murderous indiscretions. They still think of you as that little prince, and it’s terribly flattering upon my image.”

Ah, of course; Hux is still in the midst of diplomatic manipulation. Ren tries not to feel too disappointed.

Instead, he settles into regretting that he had not done as everyone expected and violently ended this loathsome experience the very moment it started. Hux would doubtlessly still be forcing him to block, and probably extending the required time length, but Ren nevertheless thinks about doing it now. He entertains breaking out the large bay window, but that would be far too costly, and the organizers seem to have remembered the chandelier incident by the lack of them…

“Come now, Lord Ren,” Hux says, clicking his tongue softly and pushing back from Ren’s side as a few representatives start to step their way. It leaves Ren’s entire body feeling cold, though Hux brushes back the distress with a strong sense of comfort hidden behind a sardonic, almost hypocritical slide of thought. “Though you could destroy a few more glasses – you know, that aide over there complimented my attire.”

Ren sneers back with a surge of half-hearted irritation, only to turn and blink in confusion when the approaching representatives scuttle away like they’d been burnt before they even get within a meter of Hux’s position. He glances sidelong in curiosity, suspecting deliberate interference – isn’t Hux meant to be talking to these repugnant delegates?

Ren’s gratefulness for reprieve notwithstanding.

“I have already made a preliminary deal with Calrissian for access to her mining post, and Fl’n for a loan,” Hux says, gesturing in their respective directions with an unsubtle wave of a single hand. He starts walking at the same moment, ignoring a few stares as he lowers his voice and leans back into Ren’s side as they near the exit. “Starok was more resistant, as he had a friend on Hosnia, but I believe I managed to convince him that the rumor about my conceiving and controlling Starkiller was laughable.”

Ren frowns, finding it entirely too hard to believe Hux would downplay his intelligence for a few credits, especially when the credits are for ships that he is doubtlessly designing. It would be parsed out in mere minutes.

“I don’t believe I said _Starok_ was intelligent,” Hux says, halting Ren just outside the exit hall with a firm hand on his arm and a gesture toward the barely visible bar, silently encouraging Ren to pay attention to the far side.

Ren sighs and turns reluctantly, then furrows his brow as he witnesses Starok grimacing down at a data-pad with a careful grimace. He seems to be having difficulty with a simple register transaction, so much that there is an aide awkwardly standing next to him and pointing out the proper procedure. It could mean nothing more than an unfamiliarity with the technology, but…

“Unless he is a Force-user on par with your dearly departed grandfather, he cannot hide the true nature of his mind with such ease,” Hux says, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest, tapping impatient fingers against an elbow. He turns on his heel and exits into the hall, voice practically echoing against the walls as the noise of the party is left behind. “He is simply a fool with a rather large amount of money, and an apathetic constituency. I should easily be able to play him into my hand.”

“Ah,” Ren says, blinking quietly for a few moments and then nodding. He’ll admit he hasn’t been paying attention to a lot the last few weeks, which should be forgiven because the encounter with Snoke nearly ended him, but he feels as if he should have had some inkling for the epiphany that Hux _still_ intends for the Order to take over the Galaxy. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Hux says, though there is a small smirk twisting up at the corner of his mouth. He leans in to Ren’s shoulder again, an aberrant note of delight pressing into Ren’s mind as he lowers his audible voice to a murmur, “I simply envision having all these fools depend on the Order’s might for all their petty little squabbles.”

Ren frowns, finding the idea slightly megalomaniacal, which is very Hux, but also incredibly mercenary. It sounds as if Hux wants to rebuild the Order, only to hire it out to the highest bidder.

“Precisely,” Hux says, lowering his voice with a distinctively sly lilt. He leans in to Ren’s shoulder again, oddly conspiratorial, “They who control the most dangerous weapon, controls the entire Galaxy. I simply have to make that weapon indestructible, and I've learned recently that it is more easily done by making it made up of millions of small, independent pieces.”

Ren narrows his eyes, frowning as a singular thought emerges, “Is this why you sold Dyerl and Danto?”

Hux glances sideways, huffing under his breath with a small smirk. “Well, I imagine from a certain point of view the Hutt bought their services as mercenaries.”

Ren scrapes his teeth along his lip, clarifying even as he feels the obvious turn of thought from Hux. “For your little plot.”

“I just wanted that disgusting beast dead,” Hux says, with a thought toward baseless vengeance. It is doubtful Hutt had never even heard of Hux, let alone truly threatened him. “Making the twins miserable for a little while was also a lesser goal.”

Ren sighs, already picturing the fight that will come in a few days. He doubts Danto will be deterred from her need for murderous vengeance by the small fact she would technically be committing high treason.

“She’s been trying for years,” Hux says, dismissing the concern with little more than a careless gesture. “You should give her a reward if she ever manages it, like a dimwitted pet.”

The lift that is meant to take them to their courtesy lodging fifty floors up is barred by a pair of Republic guards. They stand at perfect attention despite the empty hall, eyes sliding sideways in almost uncanny synch as Ren and Hux approach the large, opaque doors.

“Identification, sirs,” a guard says, holding out a hand. 

Hux shares an irritated glance with Ren as he pulls out his data-pad, swiping a few times before it reveals their credentials. “I find it hard to believe you don’t already recognize us – You must know who Ren is, at least?”

The other guard glances over quickly, an odd ruddiness coloring their cheeks just as they hastily look away and toward the end of the hall. Ren almost scans their thoughts before deciding better of it, catching enough from Hux to grasp that they were once an ill-advised fan of his parents.

The more professional guard hands back the data-pad with a careless shrug, stepping to the side, “Proceed, sir.”

Ren keeps his face straight until the lift doors close behind him, and only then allows himself to grimace as a tight line of discomfort crawls up his back. He really, really hates the Core worlds. He needs to build another mask and prevent any more of this loathsome recognition.

“I had no idea you despised your popularity so much,” Hux says, humming lowly as his mouth twists into a small, bitter frown. “I wonder what else it is I’ve missed in such a short time.”

“My parents were popular,” Ren says, curling a hand at his side and swallowing back a burst of wrathful Force as he looks out the exposed lift wall. It towers over nearly the entire Senate district, and he wants nothing more than to crash it into the ground kilometers below, right into the underworld. “I was a _curiosity_. A subject for the mundane and cruel to gossip about on the holonet.”

Ren feels intent before it develops into implementation, glancing sideways and catching the small scowl on Hux’s face just as a gloved hand reaches up to press against his chest. He tries to smother his sharp inhale before it becomes obvious, but knows he failed when a smirk slowly replaces the frown.

“You don’t seem to be aware of how you look in this,” Hux says, eyes looking down and then up with a decidedly suggestive lilt. “Wearing a proper uniform for the first time in your life. Most of the thoughts from tonight in your direction were much kinder than you believe.”

“It’s hardly a uniform,” Ren mutters, forcing his mouth into a disbelieving frown as he tugs slightly at the seam still biting into his side. “It’s… I couldn’t fight in it.”

“You’re not meant to,” Hux says, and he steps forward to slide his fingers down the edge of the fastening. He exhales softly, visibly captivated as his tongue peeks just past his lips. “The design is clearly inspired by a full dress uniform, one from before the Imperial Regime. It is why the Dauga was contracted.”

Ren frowns, feeling his brow pinch as he looks down at his own front. He will admit he understands the appeal, especially if this is how much Hux seems to appreciate it, but cannot comprehend the motivation even as it’s presented to him. “I think it’s very odd that you appreciate military uniforms from the Old Republic; doesn’t it go against your ethics?”

“I think it is far more odd you kept a skull,” Hux says, mouth twisting into a punishing smirk as he winds the chain at Ren’s collar around his finger to tug at it. “Don’t you?”

Ren exhales heavily, badly reigning his irritation even as he runs both hands down Hux’s back, spanning palms and fingers across his waist just to do it. The belt is made of some kind of corded leather, and Ren finds it all too easy to slip his thumbs between it and the jacket, palms settling firmly around Hux’s hips.

“Six cams,” Ren says, inhaling slightly when Hux leans in further and actually presses lips to the side of Ren’s mouth. He smells sweet like the fizz from the party. “Four in the ceiling. Two in the floor.”

“Are you worried for the delicate mind of a security droid?” Hux says, disbelief and irritation saturating his mind in equal measure. He thinks Ren might be rejecting him.

“No,” Ren says, shaking his head slightly, finding himself glancing out the lift wall and at the enormous Senate building.

“Ah,” Hux intones, leaning back to look at Ren with an aggravated frown. “You’re worried for my nonexistent reputation.”

“Politics is a delicate balance,” Ren says, exhaling slowly as he grudgingly recalls a few fights he once witnessed between his parents. The memories help some to stall his otherwise untimely reactions.

“I blew up the Hosnian System, Ren,” Hux says, shifting until both hands are light against Ren's collar, pulling and teasing. He seems to be awfully focused on the chain. “Kissing in a public lift is nothing.”

Ren tries to ignore the gloved fingers caressing along his jaw, suddenly aware of something he probably should have been keeping better track off: the First Order’s ban on alcohol. People still found and consumed it, of course, and there was even a well-known racket that operated in the bowels of the Finalizer, as it served the main supply line between the Citadel and the rest of the Galaxy, but as far as Ren knows, and he knows a lot, Hux never partook in any of the product.

Ren has to wonder how much Hux drank tonight, to be so oddly nonchalant about his war crimes in front of _six_ Republic cameras. Or to voice his vainglorious plans for military domination in the middle of a well-guarded Republic event hall.

“Perhaps, you should have been more attentive,” Hux snaps, shifting backward with an audible huff. He sneers at Ren just as the doors slide open, “Gossiping about sexual deviancy, and now pretending to be too timid to kiss me.”

“I am not pretending,” Ren says, voice lowering as they step out of the lift. The hall is visibly empty, but he can sense guards patrolling the area and would rather not draw their attention before he got to the rooms.

“Of course, I forgot,” Hux says, gesturing outward with one hand and barely acknowledging the overly-polite droid. His thoughts are swimming with various subjects he _could_ be voicing, momentarily drifting to that repressed dread still turning over in his mind, before jumping back to the current conversation. “You actually are, otherwise you’d not have left me standing like a fool while you toddled off to the corner to hide like a shy felinx.”

“Every single individual there was an amoral parasite,” Ren says, feeling his skin flash hot and cold as he recalls how revolting it was to bear all those two-faced politicians. “The only reason you could so easily endure it is that you’re _no better_.”

Hux lifts his hand and Ren braces for unkind fingers to round his head to grab at his hair, as is Hux’s usual, physical reprimand, only to be subsequently disappointed when Hux simply sighs and walks right past him. He ignores the dull pang in his chest as he continues on Hux’s heels, his damnable mind shoving baseless thoughts into his conscious. (What if Hux is tiring of him? No one is around any longer to force them together. Ren knows his mother offered to break it… What if that latent anxiety is nothing more than Hux’s wariness of Ren’s reaction to the news?)

“Ren,” Hux says, voice dry despite the frustrated thoughts winding through his mind. He makes no effort to hide them, though they seem to turn more self-reflective as he looks sideways to stop Ren with a narrow glare. “I simply believe it ceases as appropriate chastisement when you go looking for it. Ignoring you is much more effective.”

“Stay out of my mind,” Ren says, reverting to an old retort as he suffers the spread of heat crawling up his neck. He is simply prepared to suffer the consequences of his actions.

Hux scoffs, raising a single brow, “Do you want to resume the exercise?”

Ren frowns, “No.”

Hux smirks in an undeniably triumphant manner and pulls out his data-pad, allowing the display on the door to read it before the room trills a pleasant greeting and opens the door with a hiss. The lights blink on with a calm wave as they enter the rooms, throwing into sharp relief even the far-reaching corners. The accoutrements are generous and vaguely mismatched like most Core World architecture, the sweeping arches of the Old Republic with a dash of grey Imperial austerity, a notable exception being the modified viewing window that spans the entire opposite side that had to have been installed in the past few years.

Otherwise, it is nearly exactly the same as Ren remembers it. He probably never stayed in this specific room, but it seems they are all the same.

“This is a terrible waste of space,” Hux says, his mouth an affronted moue as he steps further into the apartment. “The proprietor could easily split this in two or more spaces and make twice the credits.”

“It is Senate lodging,” Ren says, drifting toward the window and glancing down at the city below. The traffic is low in this district, or is purposefully restricted, and Ren can see unhindered in every direction. “Or it was, during the Old Republic and the Empire.”

“Perhaps the owner is attempting to sell them back to the new Senate,” Hux says, glancing around the rooms with renewed scrutiny, now categorizing failings. “We are lucky the Citadel can float in orbit.”

Ren hums agreement, narrowing his eyes as he catches sight of a door that strikes a memory that is very old, but not unpleasant. “I want to show you something.”

“So help me if it’s a bed, Ren,” Hux says, but he doesn’t resist when Ren takes his shoulder and turns him toward the main suite.

The room itself is sumptuous, with an inoffensive color palette and a bed of unusual size, but Ren isn’t here for that yet, and rounds the corner for the refresher. The door opens with a soft hiss as they approach, and inside is just as lavishly appointed as Ren recalls from his childhood, if slightly less colorful and with a remodeled sonic shower.

Hux hums low as he steps in further, pulling away from Ren’s hand. His attention immediately finds the large tub in the far corner, a familiar stone affair that spans nearly the entire far wall. He seems to believe it cannot possibly be real, despite standing in front of it.

“Have you never seen a bathtub?” Ren says, voice going wry. He has half a mind to disrobe now, but Hux’s intentions were not subtle, and neither was his focus on the clothing.

“Not one such as this,” Hux says, fingers drifting along the edge of the tub, lifting his hand in surprise when dim lights appear at the touch. “It could sustain a small ship.”

“Every unit has one,” Ren says, affecting a careless shrug. He is quite curious where Hux may have seen a bath – the _Finalizer_ certainly had none. Perhaps the Citadel… No, Hux would never indulge in something so impractical.

Hux sighs, eyes rolling with reluctant amusement, “The Citadel used to have them in the med-bay, before a bacta supplier came to their senses.”

Ren blinks, not quite understanding until a flash of a very small, injured Hux in a bath bursts to the forefront of his mind. The tub itself is metal and deep, filled nearly to the brim with ice and salt water while Hux shivers in pain. The treatment seems oddly uncivilized, even for the early years of the First Order.

“You calling anything uncivilized is terrifically amusing,” Hux says, a smirk turning up the corner of his lips, eyes narrowing with merciless amusement. “Then again, you are a little _prince_.”

Ren feels his mouth curl into a snarl, eyes narrowing into an angry glare. “Don’t call me that.”

“It does answer a lot of questions,” Hux says, tipping his head and taking a few slow steps toward Ren. He lifts a hand, drawing along the side of Ren’s face with his knuckles, “To think, these people still think of you like royalty – maybe the Order should do the same?”

“Alderaan is gone,” Ren says, swallowing thickly as Hux’s hand drifts, warm leather smooth against this skin. He dreads the moment his voice decides to crack. “My true grandfather destroyed it.”

“Ah, ah,” Hux says, raising his eyebrows and leaning in close with a short squeeze of Ren’s jaw. “Grand Moff Tarkin destroyed it.”

Ren exhales heavily, feeling a bubble of irritation at the center of his chest. He knows the story probably better than anyone living, aside from his mother, and Hux definitely pulled that little detail from his mind.

“Sadly, the destruction of a planet doesn’t completely remove the people,” Hux says, giving a ludicrous sigh of exasperation. He narrows his eyes a moment later, humming low, “Nor your mother, which I imagine is the true motivation.”

Ren wants nothing more than for Hux to just shut up, but that would probably require removing his tongue. “ _She_ also dislikes the designation.”

“Does she?” Hux says, leaning back with an undeniably delighted upturn of his mouth. “I almost want to go back downstairs.”

Ren almost pulls away, the irritation becoming too much, only to halt at the gentle slide of fingers into his hair. Hux doesn’t so much as tug, and the expectation is practically torturous as dull, gloved fingertips drag against the base of Ren’s scalp.

Hux smirks, leaning in and lightly pressing his lips to the bow of Ren’s, outright teasing, “You can take your bath later, princeling.”

“Hux,” Ren mutters, attempting to sound threatening and trying to ignore how the awful nickname sounds in _that_ tone. He refuses to allow it to go from sickening to something that makes his skin prickle with heat. 

“I have to make up for half a lifetime,” Hux says, turning them both and walking backward himself as he pulls Ren toward the bed. He tips his head in a mockery of disappointment, “That damnable censorship of outside media, robbing me of such material.”

Ren frowns, his play at reluctance waning as he lifts both hands to curl around Hux’s waist. “You are so cruel.”

“Oh, come now,” Hux says, tipping them onto the bed with a move reminiscent of their first time on the freighter. He pulls slightly at Ren’s shirtfront, glancing up through his lashes, “Let’s forget that, hm?”

The image of Hux below suddenly inspires an odd crawl up the back of Ren’s neck; an abrupt roil of discomfort. He stays upright on his palms, hands on either side of Hux’s thin chest, as his eyes dart over the unusual way Hux has hunched his shoulders, curled his hands into a small ball at the front of Ren’s chest, appearing suddenly to be as diminutive as a slave. Even his mind is… Vague and muddled, as if Ren has become newly successful at menacing him.

Hux raises an eyebrow after a few moments, a small hint of his acerbic personality reappearing. His mind even clears some as he tries to discern the source of Ren’s sudden anxiety.

Ren feels a shudder go up the middle of his back and suddenly finds he has to quickly get out of this position, lest he allow the tight feeling in his chest grow to panic. He easily alters his body to fall on his back, so he can stare up at the shifting, galactic image of the ceiling while the bizarre sensation fades from the forefront of his mind. He is glad for the size of the bed, though perhaps it would have been no more mortifying to have landed on the floor.

He refuses to turn and look at Hux’s face even when he feels the curiosity prod at his senses. He doesn’t need to look to know what is going through that mind: disbelief of this embarrassing reality. Ren feels very much the same. He has never felt such an anxiety before, and it wasn’t the vaguely tantalizing sort that he often experiences with Hux.

Hux is blessedly silent for a few moments longer, his mind continuing a rapid, circular mix of thought before he seems to reach the, miserably correct, deduction, probably taken from Ren’s own mind. “That obnoxious looming maneuver you employ in every argument we have… I haven’t imagined that, have I?”

Ren refuses to respond aloud, biting at his lip in shame – that particular action makes him feel like he is unbeatable, especially when it irritates Hux, and Ren likes doing it nearly as much as he apparently hates towering over Hux now like some – some… Hulking monster. The tone of discomfiting feeling had felt suspiciously like the Light, which is downright worrisome.

He closes his eyes and wonders vaguely if Hux’s force-eating power is strictly physical, or if Ren can still rob him of consciousness. Not for too long, just enough that he could escape to the refresher – taking a bath and trying to inflict memory loss on himself suddenly seems a very attractive idea.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Hux says, and a quick hand suddenly presses into the side of Ren’s ribs, curling over into his opposite side.

Ren inhales in surprise as Hux swiftly shifts and throws a thigh over his waist as if to trap him, then twisting to straddle and reversing their prior position with apparent ease. He is more intrigued than unsatisfied, mouth pinched as he wonders at Ren for a few silent moments.

“But this is fine – Am I not monstrous enough?” Hux says, sliding his hands up the side of Ren’s neck and jaw, holding his head tilted at a mildly uncomfortable angle. He’s still wearing the gloves. “I’ll try not to feel too offended.”

“I don’t –” Ren says, a sigh escaping as Hux leans down and presses a kiss to the exposed line of his neck. He hesitantly lifts both hands and curls them around Hux’s thighs, pressing his thumbs against the inner seams. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps you’re too caught in your role,” Hux says, a mean smile twisting at his lips; his thoughts have turned obvious and trite. “The virtuous prince, captured and devoured by his cruel monster.”

“That’s not a real story,” Ren murmurs, trying his hardest to feel resentful at the nickname, at being called _virtuous_ , but it’s far too difficult to think of anything other than the heat from Hux’s lips. He is practically prickling with it now, every new kiss a spark that erases the earlier uneasiness.

“I am sure it is somewhere,” Hux says, hands releasing and drifting downward, glancing cruelly over the tight clasp of the collar and its chain. His thoughts have oddly turned to Ren’s hurried pulse. “There are many systems. Perhaps the prince is even as terrible at self-discipline as you – maybe that is why the monster took him.”

Ren swallows a whimper, glancing downward in reflex when clever fingers stroke lightly over the emergent line of his dick. He scrapes teeth over his lip, “Are you a writer now?”

Hux narrows his eyes, practically tutting even as he shifts his hips just slightly to grind down. “I can be many things, Ren.”

The tight seams are almost becoming another part of the act, digging in with every slight shift of Ren’s chest. He hopes desperately that one of the things Hux can be is someone who can unfastens clothing, or he may end up a necrophiliac. Ren could use the Force, but that could prove to irritate him.

Hux frowns, eyes narrowing, “I am very eager to have you in this uniform.”

“I know,” Ren says, breath hitching when Hux grinds down again into his groin, the line of his dick an enticing swell even through the dense cloth.

Hux hums, running fingers along a few of the more complex shifts of cloth on Ren’s top. He is entertaining a fleeting fantasy highlighting Ren’s bare, heaving chest, slightly more muscled and less scarred than reality, and framed by the split uniform. 

Ren humbly vows never to skip another kata form again, swallowing tightly when Hux tugs again at the chain. Ren wonders if Hux ever planned on getting undressed, too, or if he was also going to stay in his clothes… How would that even work?

“I had planned for you to get lost in some dominance fantasy,” Hux says, explaining with a careless shrug and a slight curl of his fingers around his own collar. He is more embarrassed than his tone suggests, a small moue of discontent at his lips. “It would have given you the illusion of power, and me a lovely memory of you in this uniform.”

Ren feels discomfort at even the mere insinuation of the idea. It sounds entirely unpleasant, and he balks at the half-hearted imagery that he finds at the surface of Hux’s mind, even the fictional Hux doesn’t seem to truly enjoy it.

“I have seen you put prisoners half your size on their knees for the power of it, so apologies for misjudging you,” Hux says, though he is almost completely sarcastic about it, and nearly as unrepentant. “The risks that come with a man so inexperienced as you: we have surprises.”

Ren sneers back, ignoring the terrible spread of heat along the back of his neck. He has plenty of second-hand experience, which should be nearly as good. Hux knows all about the value of _theory_.

Hux raises an eyebrow, leaning up with both hands pressing into Ren’s chest, “You really _are_ a terrible voyeur, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it,” Ren says, inhaling hard when Hux shifts his hips and until his ass sits almost perfectly over Ren’s dick. He grimaces a moment later, a pleasure conflicting with pain as his chest stops short of full expansion.

“Has the seam really irritated your wound this much?” Hux says, laying a hand over the area as he leans back and onto Ren’s thighs. It’s both excruciating and alleviating at once, and it has very little to do with the old injury.

“It is fine,” Ren says, nearly biting his lips and only catching himself at the last moment. He would never live it down. “Very fine.”

The hand presses down harder and Ren breathes in sharply, an ache stabbing through and up under his ribs. He keeps silent, though, and refuses to have Hux stop just because of something that could be fixed by just letting Ren take off this difficult outfit.

Hux hums a low note of disbelief and pulls back the hand to slowly releases the clasps of his own top, apparently hidden neatly behind an imperceptible overlay. The rest is held together by only a few more, releasing like a malleable shell from his shoulders. His chest is visibly flushed underneath it, pink crossing neatly over his collarbone and up his neck.  

Ren lifts a hand and slides it up Hux’s breastbone, feeling the heat and tension jump at every breath. He watches with some bemusement as Hux practically vibrates in place, pulling the top off completely and then casting it off messily at the far end of the bed. Ren doesn’t understand why Hux seems this eager, as it’s hardly _his_ first time, as unfit as those prior partners had been, and it is not as though Ren is particularly captivating or exceptional. It is almost as if –

Oh.

Hux catches his eyes, the high arch of his cheeks growing dark. “Say a single word, Ren.”

Ren takes a breath, holding it for a moment, then lowers his own gaze; he is not that stupid _or_ hypocritical. His lack of partners hasn’t been _completely_ because of Snoke.

“You’re leaving most of it on,” Hux murmurs, leaning down and bracketing Ren’s head with his elbows. “We don’t want you too comfortable.”

Ren lifts his chin up just enough to catch Hux’s teasing lips with his own, digging his fingertips into thin hips when it causes a breathy, nearly imperceptible moan. He opens his mouth just as he feels the intent slip over Hux’s mind, and eagerly accepts the soft slide of his tongue alongside warm pleasure of Hux’s mild approval.

He starts slightly when he feels a soft brush of fingers tugging at his clothes, then pulls back with a heavy exhale when he feels the cooler air hit his chest and the compression finally release from his waist. He glances down to find his chest heaving nearly exactly like Hux’s little fantasy, if more rapidly and slicker with sweat.

“It looks fine,” Hux says, almost outright indignant at indulging Ren’s ability to breath. He runs a hand over the edge of the scars on Ren’s waist, “You’re far too sensitive, princeling.”

Ren tries to scowl back, breath hitching when Hux’s hand moves decidedly downward. The nickname has already shifted into something more appealing, made worse by the current terrible, slow slide of each button at his fly.

Hux smirks, glancing up through his lashes as he easily drags his fingers along Ren’s bare dick, lightly pulling upward until his thumb nearly drags directly onto the head, before flicking his wrist in the opposite direction.

Ren is going to kill him, and it won’t even be something he enjoys because it’s just going to happen.

“Do me a favor and find the slick,” Hux murmurs, even as he continues the slow, faint tug of fingers up Ren’s dick.

Ren can barely think, let alone concentrate on something so delicate. He reaches outward for Hux’s own fly, at the obvious, tight line of his dick, but Hux actually shifts away with a scolding tsk and a mental pang of exasperation.  

It’s a particularly frustrating reaction because Ren knows exactly how dense the lust is in Hux’s mind, how the heat buzzes under his skin, but not how he’s staying so damnably unruffled on the outside. It’s almost worse than when their conflicts hold more anger – at least Ren knows that is from egotism.

Hux huffs, a smirk twisting at his mouth. “Restraint.”

Ren grits his teeth as fingers tighten on his dick for a moment before returning to the terrible teasing, and forces himself to feel desperately for anything odd around the different objects the proprietors supply in the room. He finally finds something odd in a drawer along the bottom of the bed, and twists his waist slightly to watch it slide open, revealing a small, unmarked bottle with a metallic stopper.

Hux leans over and grabs the bottle before Ren thinks to do it himself, apparently forgetting his coy torture. Ren could still take it, but thinks better of it, returning to his position on the bed and curling his hands around the shape of Hux’s waist. He knows what he is meant to do with the slick, but not exactly how _Hux_ wants him to use it.

“How extravagant,” Hux says, uncapping the small bottle and testing the oil with a small drip over his fingers. “It’s even scented.”

Ren couldn’t care less what it smelled like, honestly, only that Hux stop being such a deliberate tormenter. He swallows with hitched breath as Hux wipes the small glint of the sample on his fingers onto the exposed head of Ren’s dick just to hear him whimper.

“Look at you,” Hux says, glancing down with an unkind smirk. “Practically begging.”

Ren frowns back, attempting to force his mouth into something less slack. He would never dare lower himself so basely.

“Not aloud,” Hux agrees, leaning down as he again curls fingers around Ren’s dick, pulling slowly as the other hand slides up to drag across a nipple. He catches Ren lips with a hard kiss, teeth scraping with little concern.

Ren manages to awkwardly, distractedly curl his own hand around the seam of Hux’s fly, sparing a quick thought to undoing the surprisingly easy zipper. He feels a soft groan into his mouth as his fingers hit bare skin, and a longer, breathier moan as he gently drags his thumb across the head. 

Hux pulls back after another few moments, enjoying the act with a few wanton thoughts that slide perfectly against Ren’s own. He shoves off Ren’s chest with an obvious reluctance, showing a rare moment of clumsiness as he begins to drag off his pants with a few heavy breaths, fully exposing himself to the city.

Ren feels his expression fall as he stares out the translucent window, hands still in the midst of untying his boots, and heart speeding up for completely unpleasant reasons. A cam droid could be out there, recording their every move – it could be projecting to the holonet. It could all be ruined before it has even really started.

“You are absolutely mad,” Hux mutters, but he leans back toward the window as he pulls off his gloves, fingers pressing on the surface for a small slider. He brings it down halfway, until the wall is blessedly opaque, before finishing pulling off pants from his ankles. “I’m quite certain the only one eager to film you mid-coitus is me.”

“It happened to my parents,” Ren says, unintentionally recalling the horrible memory of one of those awful padawans gleefully telling him the gory details at the age of eleven. He had been easily mortified at the age, and the remembered shame sticks uncomfortably in his throat.

Hux stares at him for a long moment, then makes an odd, twisted grimace before climbing back onto the bed. He is appropriately appalled, but doesn’t show it as he curls both hands back into Ren’s hair to kiss him, before leaning back with a grim nod. “Let us never mention that again, hm?”

Ren had not wanted to mention it now…. Why is he remembering it at all? He hates the Core worlds. He kicks off his boots and hopes one leaves a dent in the wall.

“Stop dwelling on it,” Hux murmurs, nipping sharply at the side of Ren’s jaw, then tugging one of Ren’s hands to the back of a thigh to encourage him to hold it. “Start thinking with your cock a little more and shove your trousers down a bit.”

Ren stares up at him for a short moment, blinking in surprise until scolded with a frustrated, physical flick of sharp fingers against a nipple. He huffs, trying to manage the stiff movement without dislodging Hux, only to give up and use a delicate amount of Force that oddly makes him feel like a moron. He forgets the thought behind a rush of startled pleasure, inhaling when Hux fingers slide backward and curl against his now exposed balls for a too-short moment.

“Now, Ren,” Hux murmurs, teeth still sharp against the side of Ren’s neck, dragging against his throat. “Do you think you can do this with all that _speculative_ experience?”

Ren’s free hand spasms slightly as the cool bottle is pressed into his palm, the faintly slick edge of the stopper dangerously loose. He exhales at the expectation weighing from Hux’s mind, and gently pulls at Hux’s thigh to shifts him upward until he’s close to that earlier position, only now with his bare cock leaking onto Ren’s chest.

Hux draws errant hands up Ren’s chest and to his shoulders, squeezing tightly as he pointedly contemplates how Ren’s arms must be long enough that it won’t be too uncomfortable to prepare him even from this odd angle. He seems to find it so plausible that he plasters the image to the forefront of Ren’s mind, then giving a low laugh at the wave of nervous heat that shoves up through Ren’s chest from the way his own cock twitches noticeably against Hux’s ass.

Ren suffers another few moments of the unsubtle fantasy before hastily unstopping the bottle and pouring sloppily over his own fingers, the jesmin scent somehow that much more obvious now on his own hands. He churns the oil between his fingers, anxiety briefly making his breath hitch before a tight hand curls around his wrist, forcing him to confirm that it is all too easy to reach behind Hux’s balls and clumsily drag the pads of his fingers over the shape of Hux’s hole. He slowly sinks a single finger in as Hux silently insists, some bygone part of his mind in disbelief even as the tight heat envelops every next knuckle.

Ren can even feel the slow brush of his moving knuckles just over his own dick, and the lewdness of it ratchets up his already heady arousal when he glances down to find the image of it even worse. He returns his other hand to its place wrapped around Hux’s thigh, high on his hip, and pretends it is simply for leverage.

The initial edge of Hux’s discomfort is like a heartfelt insult, and Ren tries to be gentle until a few additional thoughts of impatience shove in alongside to curse the unwanted delicacy. Ren answers that with a harsher slide of his finger, belatedly remembering the instruction to listen for every hint of a want that slides through Hux’s mind. He adds another finger just as Hux squeezes the back of the arm Ren’s using, hips slowly beginning to shift in time with every upward movement.

Even Hux’s breath has lost its deliberate levelness, mind flooding with encouragement as both hands now clutch over Ren’s skin in a short spasm of movement. His hands shift to a more purposeful goal a few moments later, slow and tantalizing over Ren’s chest and nipples, undeniably fixed in their movement even as he concentrates on relaxing against Ren's fingers.

Ren gasps himself when he follows command a little too well, dragging against Hux’s prostate and then incidentally doing it twice over when the feeling echoes unforgiving into his own body. Hux’s balls are suddenly tight against his palm, and he has to resist the urge to attempt at completely bringing Hux off – he’d probably end up scolded and then sent away.

Hux hums a heartfelt agreement, even as his hands slide up to curl tightly at Ren’s shoulders with a quieter edge of urgency. He is practically whimpering now, even if most of the noise is contained within his mind.

Ren adds another finger, feeling slightly awkward as he attempts to curl the three tighter together, then blinks back a sharp, unexpected spark of bodily delight as Hux groans at the hard stretch of muscle. He spreads his fingers slightly, experimentally almost, and swallows back his own moan just as Hux fitfully skids both hands up to wrap around his shoulders, practically clawing at the muscle.

Ren bites down on his lip and does it again, this time curling inward at the same time. The jolt of pleasure is almost painful, apparently enough that Hux completely curls forward as his body spasms reflexively around Ren’s fingers.

“Stop it,” Hux says, breathing hotly into the side of Ren’s neck. “Stop.”

Ren relaxes his fingers, resuming the gentler thrusting against his better opinion. He could easily get off with simply this – It wouldn’t be the first time that the echoes were enough.

“ _Voyeur_ ,” Hux hisses, repeating his earlier accusation as he shifts back with a pointed reach downward between his legs for Ren’s throbbing, leaking dick. He is rather insistent that Ren be just as physically immersed as he is mentally, and is quite literally taking it in his own hands.

Ren feels almost empty himself as he pulls back his own hand, clumsily finding the slick that has near fallen from the bedside. He carelessly drains too much of it onto his dick, breathing hard with want as he watches, mesmerized, as Hux’s fingers spread it down along the shaft with a few teasing, enticing swipes against the head.

Ren can barely breath when Hux lifts his slim hips up to find the shape of Ren’s dick, both hands falling from Hux’s thighs to the sheets as the weight of anticipation from the both of them mixes into something near suffocating. He barely recognizes his own whimper as the sensitive head of his dick nudges against the back of Hux’s balls, then too-slowly finds itself pressed inside of his ass, the measured glide against the rest of Ren's shaft almost like torture.

Ren finds himself covering his face with one hand as Hux begins moving, Hux’s thinner fingers soon joining against the palm of the other. The feeling is too much at first, inside and out, and he belated realizes it is almost as if he is being fucked himself – like the enticing slide is being experienced from all positions. It is almost similar to when he uses the Force more viciously against Hux, as rare as that was, only instead of pain it is now an equal echo of pleasure.

Hux hums lowly, his agreement a feint presence against the overwhelming carnal sensation – he shares a flicker of an image that is of being taken and taking two separate Ren’s, as if that could somehow dull the excitement of the impression. His next movements overcome the thoughts handily, as he seems to purposefully draw Ren’s dick over his prostate, which has Ren reach out and grab both shifting thighs in reflex, fingers clawing without purchase against the sheen of sweat on Hux’s skin.

He faintly wants to curl his fingers around the jutting, leaking shape of Hux’s dick, but has a disquieting thought that it would end all of this far too soon. He contents himself with a clumsy drag of fingers over the back of Hux’s balls, pressing at a certain spot for a moment until Hux snaps angrily with his physical teeth, frustrated by his own suggestion as he bites at Ren's lips.

The irritation subsides only a moment later as Hux hums into Ren’s mouth, tongue practically in time with his hips. He shares an image of himself on his back, though it is nothing like before – no docile pretending of subordination – and Ren groans a reluctant agreement. He nearly loses his balance as they turn, clumsily made to remember the fact he’s stuck in a pair of stupid pants mid-thigh, but manages to keep from falling onto Hux as they roll into an oddly easy reverse of positions. Ren even grabs both Hux’s thighs in a way that seems so disturbingly instinctual that it must be borrowed from Hux’s mind, confirmed some by the swift manner Hux folds both legs behind him.

Ren thrusts in under his own power now, uncertain even in spite of Hux’s mental desperation, and nearly collapses forward anyway under the shudder that goes through him from the sensation. He continues at an uneven pace until he manages to find that spot, feeling absently triumphant when Hux audibly moans, breath wavering with every new thrust.

He is clumsily forced to shift more prone when eager hands grab and drag him down for a series of biting kisses along his neck and jaw, now feeling Hux’s dick trapped between them and adding that to the contradiction of perception. He is certain he won’t be able to last much longer, especially with how tempting it is to continue dragging right against Hux prostate with every snap of his hips, making every one of his own breaths a gasp.

Hux exhales in tandem as he thrusts his hips back, legs tightening around the back of Ren and hands curling into loose hair. He doesn’t seem to be in disagreement with the current trend; absent, scattered thoughts that Ren is inhumanly good acting as an effective spur to continue at the wracking pace.

“Yes, yes,” Hux murmurs, digging his fingernails hard into the already tender skin of Ren’s shoulders, the short stabs of pain the only warning Ren gets as lost in feeling as he is with every rapid slide of ghostly pressure inside and out. The orgasm is almost painful, a feeling like his entire body is seizing under the sudden strike of pleasure, then a second, much stronger wave that he absently realizes is his own release following behind Hux. His body trembles with spastic thrusts, every throb of his dick caught in between Hux’s shuddering pulses that last for almost too long.

He pulls out a long while later, once the spurs of pleasure have faded into echoes, and the reverse is almost as bad as going in, except now he’s left feeling bereft and nearly uncomfortable. He wants very badly to kick off the rest of the clothing, maybe drag Hux to the large bath, but he’s not certain he can move that much. He can barely roll over to his side.

He also hopes dearly that Hux was only projecting all that feeling to him. It would be terribly unwelcome to find the entire hotel as oddly charged the next morning as he had the Resistance camp, only now with a bunch of horrible politicians who hold a more explicit understanding. The only, vaguely realized, comfort is that Ren’s mother apparently cannot feel or be affected by it.

“Indeed,” Hux murmurs, his voice unusually soft with exhaustion. He lazily lifts a hand, letting it fall haphazardly against Ren’s face, stroking awkwardly with his thumb up the ragged inside of the scar. “You will have to ask your new friend, princeling.”

Ren grimaces back, mouth curling downward even as Hux leans in for a kiss with his own tired smirk. The idea of asking Dameron if he knew, and felt, Ren have sex is perhaps the most torturous thing Ren can imagine, and that is as someone who has tortured many, including Dameron.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your extensive history of media suppression and banning of the arts cannot simply be ignored, especially as there has been no news of any attempts to rectify these barest sapient rights,” the Speaker says, an impressively long-lekkued togruta with an unfortunately high-pitched voice. He had refused outright to be titled a Chancellor, clearly managing to hold a nearly sixty-year grudge against the last one of the Old Republic. “So what possible motivation does the Republic have to trust this is not some elaborate trap from your First Order to continue the extermination of free thought in the Galaxy?”
> 
>  _‘Because I’ve not killed any of you,’_ Hux thinks, in a way that is so clear and concise that it must be deliberate.

****

“Your extensive history of media suppression and banning of the arts cannot simply be ignored, especially as there has been no news of any attempts to rectify these barest sapient rights,” the Speaker says, an impressively long-lekkued togruta with an unfortunately high-pitched voice. He had refused outright to be titled a Chancellor, clearly managing to hold a nearly sixty-year grudge against the last one of the _Old_ Republic. “So what possible motivation does the Republic have to trust this is not some elaborate trap from your First Order to continue the extermination of free thought in the Galaxy?”

 _‘Because I’ve not killed any of you,’_ Hux thinks, in a way that is so clear and concise that it must be deliberate.

“The Order agreed and signed a binding treaty to join the Republic, with little deliberation, for the express reason of destroying the regime that perpetuated those goals,” Hux says, speaking aloud in a tone that Ren once often heard directed at Snoke: subdued frustration with just a hint of desperation. “Free thought is one of the many reasons why we are present here today. You cannot logistically expect almost thirty years of policy to be changed within a single week, Speaker.”

Ren is fairly certain Hux is aware the irony of being one of the few in the room with the ability to actively change thoughts, and effectively managing to hide the fact as the only Force sensitive in the room that isn’t known to be a Skywalker.

Probably not a Skywalker, a small part of him adds, in a tone that sounds nothing like Solo.

Ren knows if he were to so much as breathe in an even vaguely audible manner that Hux would murder him, but he feels laughter bubbling up at the terrible thought. Hux and he are of a similar age, and history often likes to –

A familiar voice enters his mind, startling him terribly simply by not being Hux. _‘Do not dare finish that thought, Ben Jacen Organa-Solo. The joke is tasteless and offensive.’_

 _‘You should not be ashamed of your past, mother,’_ Ren responds, eyes sliding sideways to catch the raised glare of his mother. _‘What did you always say about mistakes?’_

Hux makes a quiet, nearly strangled protest, his eyes darting to Ren with obvious repulsion. He sends a dim memory of an article featured in an obviously derogatory First Order publication of the rumors between Organa and Skywalker. It is from almost twenty years ago, and Hux had dismissed it then as mere propaganda, but seems to be reevaluating his opinion.

“Something to add, Imperator?” the Speaker says, narrowing his eyes in reaction to even the soft noise. “Perhaps more justifications.”

Hux aims a quick glare at Ren, scolding as if it were _his_ fault for attracting the renewed attention, and turns to respond in an equally serpent-like tone, “No, Speaker, I was conferring with my colleague on your skill for arbitration.”

Ren wonders if the Council meetings were this overwrought in the Empire.

 _‘The Emperor would have killed your narcissist long ago,’_ Organa thinks, her eyes now firmly downcast at a data pad even as she conveys the unsolicited opinion in an oddly absent manner. She must be very, very bored. ‘ _Electrocution, probably. He seemed overly fond of the smell.’_

 _‘I will block if I have to, mother,’_ Ren thinks, glancing sidelong when he catches Hux’s narrowed expression, and shaking his head just slightly to encourage him to ignore the threat.

“After all, I do not speak alone when I recount the concern over your obvious goal of expansion fueled by little more than your ego,” the Speaker says, gesturing widely at the largely uninterested gathering. Many of them stopped listening about half an hour after the Speaker started in on Hux, realizing smartly that their own concerns were never going to be addressed by the biased official, and those who didn’t are still trying to catch his attention in the few pauses he takes between rants. “Or your outright apathy regarding the destruction of an entire system.”

It is roughly the eight hundredth time that Speaker has mentioned the Hosnian tragedy, and Ren could probably scan the mind of the representative of the rubble and find even _they_ cannot bear to hear more of this bellowing. Even those who emphatically agreed at the first hour of the assembly are now barely paying attention, which includes even his mother and Dameron. The Speaker is being such a thorough ass that he is practically accomplishing Hux’s singular goal for this day with little...

Ren is now concerned he missed something important when the assembly convened.

“As I have said, the individual who ordered that atrocity was overthrown,” Hux says, admirably keeping his voice more level than his spiteful mind, simultaneously denying to Ren that he would put himself through this mind-numbing desensitizing. He wants nothing more than for their pod to return to a shadowed dock. “Killed by Lord –  By my Knight’s own hand. The Order only endeavors now to serve the greater good of the Galaxy in our deepest repentance.”

Ren nearly rolls his eyes, but manages to disguise it behind a longing stare at the other end of the wide convocation chamber, watching a group of twi’lek gossip among themselves in lekku-aided silence. Hux has almost completely denied him any sort of conversation, and Ren wishes desperately that he had Phasma’s apparent ability to literally disappear into genuine meditation.

She hasn’t moved a facial muscle in nearly the _entire_ two hours, barring a notable instance involving a sneeze. He has an irritated notion that she often did this in First Order meetings, inattention hidden beneath her helmet, and would admit to feeling retroactively envious. He spent most of those attempting to name constellations in the viewport behind Hux, a luxury that has been robbed of him here due to deliberate design. He could scan thoughts, but many of the representatives are nobility trained to mask their thoughts, a tradition bafflingly upheld even after both Jedi massacres, so Ren is stuck here mourning the lack of entertainment.

“And does the illegitimate Organa have anything to add to your little innocent act?”

Ren finds his attention drawn back to the proceedings as he raises his brows in disbelief, glancing quickly to his mother, only to narrow his eyes when he sees that she is still taken with her data pad; it seems Dameron and she are embroiled in a game of digital sabacc. Ren turns to Hux with a bemused frown, only to have it answered with a sharp glare and an encouragement to rein his temper.

“Organa has no more bearing on any marked point brought to discussion here today than I do,” Hux says, tone now deliberately bored as he returns his attention to the Speaker. “He will also be hereafter addressed as Lord Ren to avoid any obvious confusion.”

Ah, that moronic Speaker had meant _him_. How dare he have the gall to bring up rumors of parentage in front of Ren’s _actual mother_? She undoubtedly outranks him, and could probably have him put to death and not even be accused of illegal action.

Of course, that depends largely on even the barest attention from her card game.

“We don’t condone the use of baseless titles in this council,” the Speaker says, sniffing in that conceited manner that must be taught to every official of certain standing – Hux was probably born with it. “Especially on individuals who seem to serve as nothing more than simple courtesans.”

Ren longs for his mask as he feels his face contort into an affronted scowl, sitting up straighter in his chair and gripping the edge of the pod. He will show this moronic –

‘ ** _Don’t_**.’

Ren blinks, pausing his movement and glancing first to the pinched frown from Hux and then to the raised head of his mother. He isn’t quite sure who spoke first in his mind, but he lowers his hand anyway, reluctantly acknowledging the fact that outright exercising his power against the Speaker would be particularly unwise.

If he could refrain from choking Thanisson when he was on about the price of communications panels, then he can easily resist… Or, perhaps he could simply be less obvious about it. He has far more than bodily torture at his disposal.  

Ren flexes his jaw as he leans back into the uncomfortable chair, ignoring Hux’s incessant mental scolding and pinching his lips into a thoughtful frown. He spends the next long minutes of the Council meeting concentrating on the base of the chair that the disrespectful fool of a Speaker is standing over, quickly finding a few weak seams in the welding that will serve his purposes. It’s difficult to concentrate without closing his eyes, but he doesn’t have room to appear too suspect.

“The next meeting of the Council will convene in six standard months at this very location,” the Speaker announces, voice booming with superiority as he glances purposely in the direction of the First Order. “I look forward to hearing about the bountiful exploits of the _newer_ members of the Republic.”

He sits in his chair a moment later, only to squawk in a delightfully horrified manner when it snaps to pieces below his pompous ass. He snarls even as his face floods a deep purple, attention immediately finding Ren, but he seems to know he cannot possible blame the incident on anything more than a factory droid without proof.

Hux leans forward with a tight smile, tapping the microphone to disengage it before leaning over into Ren’s space. “You should have killed him.”

Ren scowls, mildly irritated at the apparent duplicity in command. Ten minutes ago was _‘don’t choke the togruta calling you a whore,’_ but now it is _‘you should have murdered that togruta in front of the entire Republic Council.’_ It is quickly becoming frustrating to be expected to exercise restraint under these conditions.

Hux actually rewards him with a rare laugh. “Don’t be so cheeky, Ren.”

“What was that?” Phasma says, blinking slowly and then taking a long breath. “I was not listening, sir, apologies.”

Ren glances down at her, mouth falling into a frown and narrowing his eyes. “Were you asleep?”

Phasma simply raises an eyebrow, face still completely impassive. “No.”

“How do you do that?”

“She’s been doing it for years,” Hux says, squaring his shoulders as their pod finally docks at the small exit. He spares a glance at Ren, “Have you never realized?”

Phasma huffs under her breath, picking her jacket up from the back of the chair as she raises to stand. “I was under the impression you read minds – have all your interrogations only been lucky guesses?”

“I don’t all the time,” Ren says, baring his teeth lazily and pointedly jabbing at her mind to watch the resultant wince.

Hux hums, looking over with apparent surprise, “You don’t?”

“Why would I?” Ren says, feeling oddly defensive. It would take an enormous amount of power to be constantly reading minds, barring Hux’s, which is purposefully at the same wavelength as his own. “Do you?”

“Of course,” Hux says, raising an eyebrow with a low scoff. He silently acknowledges a few moments later that it is mostly Ren, but that it is primarily because of isolationist habit built over the years. He shares a few of the thoughts of their passing peers, mostly concerning Coruscant’s pollution or lingering frustration at their constituents’ concerns being ignored by the Speaker.

Ren feels his eyes widen, an immaterial chill going down his back. “Do you think my mother has the same power?”

“I’m certain she has much more, Ren,” Hux says, voice carrying a note of exasperation. He has already moved on to deciding what he plans to do with Jakku, where to put his unofficial weapons factory, and how he’ll overthrow the current Speaker and put in place a sympathizer; apparently, in that order. He seems to care very little about the implication that Organa might know _everything_ that Ren has ever thought.

It puts into stark, horrifying relief her role during his childhood. She had to have known when he found the skull, when he begun speaking to the false voice inside – only to do _nothing_?

“Do you really want to start this here?” Hux says, doing little more than slowing his march to accommodate Ren’s epiphany. He even expresses outright dismissal of any blame Organa holds to Ren’s fate, largely basing it on impractical morals rather than apathy, which is frustrating.

Ren looks just over his shoulder, but continues to walk alongside Hux and Phasma, staring in Organa’s direction for a long, bitter few moments. He knew that he could never see into her mind, only ever feel the effects of it, but it never occurred to him that she held the ability to perceive others’ with nary a whim.

Nor that Hux now could, too, and it is no wonder that he remains so disarmingly confident with every conversation. Ren had worried that it meant he was growing reckless and would soon find responses in greater violence, but now feels a fool.

Phasma pulls out a pair of glasses as they exit into the light, covering her pale eyes behind reflective lenses. She gazes out at the busy transport lanes, then hums, “I think I’ll get my own speeder.”

“Why?” Hux says, already calling for the valet droid with a short press on his data pad. “Where would you use it?”

“Anywhere I’d like,” Phasma says, a smirk sharpening at the corner of her mouth. “You said you’d give me a shuttle.”

“For work,” Hux says, his voice a wry note of disgust. He seems oddly worried that she would start some sort of impossible trend. “Not for gallivanting about looking for places to break your neck.”

“I’ve done that already,” Phasma says, gesturing dismissively at her own neck with a markedly sarcastic tone. “I’m looking to lose a limb next, maybe a leg.”

Ren hums low, reluctantly forgetting his mother for now as he looks over to Phasma with a thoughtful frown. “I am the only Skywalker not to lose a hand.”

Phasma raises her eyebrows, head tipping down to look before her lips pinch into a frown, “Apologies, but I’m not certain I want to suffer that manner of camaraderie with you.”

“Insolent,” Ren says, mouth curling into a mockery of dissatisfaction.

Phasma smirks back, thankfully catching the humor. He still feels blundering at interacting with her as more collaborator than subordinate.

“What you are, Ren, is the only Organa or Naberrie in generations not to hold a Senatorial position,” Hux says, interjecting with a dark smirk. He is rather cruel in the implication, envisioning Ren forced to sit through endless meetings, eventually, and impossibly, losing his precious hand to carpal tunnel. “You should be more eager to take up the familial honor.”

“I’d gladly do it if you asked,” Ren says, his tone turning with false consideration. He knows Hux would never allow it, unless he managed a method to legitimately turn Ren into some mindless, political puppet.

Hux stares at him for a long moment, derisive mocking fading into a striking burst of that fear from yesterday, the feeling overtaking his thoughts in the form of a short, undeniably horrified rant of denial. He turns away before Ren can ask, snatching the keys out of the hand of the valet droid and then stealing off with the entire speeder before the droid even touches the next door.

Ren blinks in shock, staring after the disappearing speeder before he looks at Phasma. He hadn’t even _done_ anything, not yet – he had only been teasing about the hand. He lived through too much of Skywalker arguing with his ill-cared-for prosthetic to ever be envious.

“Don’t look at me,” Phasma says, shifting her shoulders back and crossing her arms. “You’re in his bloody head.”

“It is… Complicated,” Ren says, and it suddenly is, as if Hux is attempting to block him without actually doing it; thoughts almost painfully scrambled with equations and schematics that hide whatever is underneath. It is as if Hux has abruptly decided time was better spent designing a ship.

“Is he coming back?” Phasma says, tipping her head to side after a few more long minutes of standing at the high landing. Many of the other representatives have been picked up in the interim, only a few gossipers left behind.

Ren drags his teeth over his lip, trying to feel for Hux and only getting another, more confusing mess of mathematical jargon back. “…I do not know.”

Phasma scoffs, lips curling up in irritation. “Does the Force literally destroy your brains?”

“You’re speaking about an officer,” Ren says, feeling a heady offense at her careless insult. She has no right to speak of Hux in that manner. “Commander of the entire Order.”

“Galactic history supports me,” Phasma says, gesturing widely and falling back into a conveniently placed bench. She turns her accusing hand on Ren, “ _Your_ behavior supports me. He was fine before your mother gave him full access to it, but now look at him.”

Ren snarls, a spur of anger digging around his mind. He would throw her off the building if it wouldn’t kill her, “How does his power being locked away constitute as fine, Captain?”

“You’d do well to recognize every moment longer that he fully commands Force, the further he is from himself,” Phasma says, voice rising as she responds with wrath of her own. “This was just the latest example of how his behavior has gone completely awry!”

Ren straightens his shoulders, feeling his anger expand and contract with the force of his own breaths. “He cast off the shackles of his _tormenter._ ”

“Oh, _did_ he?” Phasma snaps, rising on her feet and daring to lean in close to his face with a sneer. “Do you truly think that the downfall of Snoke frees you from sharing even a barest amount of responsibility?”

“What do you suppose I do?” Ren says, returning the attempt at intimidation with a low snarl, contemplating how easily her glasses would shatter. “His mental perception outstrips mine so much that he is probably aware of every word in this mockery of a conversation!”

Phasma visibly grits her teeth, inhaling slowly, and then suddenly shoves at his shoulders with a power that nearly topples him just from the surprise. Ren promptly pushes back with a swift snap of the Force, but only enough that she stumbles back a few steps and into the bench. She glares at him for another few moments, but her expression soon begins twisting bizarrely, and she looks to the ground only to abruptly begin to shake; her shoulders hitching in violent trembles.

Ren steps back with a start when a short bark escapes her mouth, quickly covered by a tight hand as she bends at the waist. He stares at her, then down at his own hand, wondering with some trepidation if he had accidentally done something irreparable.

Hux would be furious, and this time with cause.

“Oh, hells,” Phasma mutters, finally regaining her composure and sliding a hand down her face. “How awful.

Ren lifts his eyes, narrowing them as a sneer reforms on his lips. “What.”

“You’ve shown restraint,” Phasma says, tilting her head and regaining the larger part of all her infuriating arrogance. “And calmed near entirely.”

“So?”

“Sit,” Phasma says, declining to answer the question and slumping back into the bench. “Maybe he’ll be back.”

Ren stays motionless for a few moments longer, trying to catch her thoughts, but the only ones he manages without her potential notice are of a lingering irritation to the Coruscant sun. He scrapes his teeth over his lip before shifting over, and sits on the cool ground just to be contrary.

“Lord Ren,” Phasma says, spreading out against the wide seat of the bench. “You will not appreciate this idea, but – “

“No,” Ren says, and he doesn’t need to read her mind to know she is trying to suggest something foolish.

Phasma sighs, “…We could call a service.”

Ren turns his head, mouth tightening when she does little more than roll her eyes at his glare.

A heavy sigh comes from just behind them, apparently sneaking with surprising nimbleness. Organa must be teaching him how to block his presence. “Hey, kids.”

“We’re no younger than you,” Phasma says, shifting her attention from Ren and turning on the bench with a still-aggravated slant of a frown. She tips her head, “Are we?”

“No idea, but I’m speaking for the General right now,” Dameron says, shrugging with a single shoulder. “So.”

Phasma raises an eyebrow, “So?”

“Wondering what the hell you’re doing?” Dameron says, mouth pressing into a flat, unamused line. He seems to be trying to convey superiority, but he merely looks as if discomforted by a passing chill. “The General didn’t say it like that, but I like to add my own twist.”

“Ren did something, Hux overreacted, and I got a little angry,” Phasma say, pushing her glasses down on her face and narrowing her eyes at Dameron with pointed attempt for commiseration. “A refreshing contrary of the usual situation.”

“Not exactly what I meant,” Dameron says, turning on his heel and pointing at the small park a few meters down. It features a large memorial to those lost in the fight with the second Death Star, now sporting a few more crumbled ships around the centered, eyelike structure. “The General is concerned with all the _mysterious_ property damage.”

Ren raises his chin, refusing to acknowledge the sudden urge to slump down further into the ground. The biased memorial neglects to acknowledge the hardship suffered by Darth Vader, or of the considerable loss of life from the Empire. His destruction of it could easily be dismissed as political.

“She should have come to complain herself,” Ren says, glancing backward at the Senate building with an old, hollow feeling scraping its way into the center of his chest. He sneers, scoffing low, “Of course, she is probably too busy with _work_.”

“Yeah, obviously…” Dameron says, raising his eyebrows, then glancing quickly to Ren before looking back to the monument. “Hey, could you not – ”

“Or is it she just doesn’t have the _time_ to deal with this right now,” Ren says, lifting a hand upward with a tense motion and watching the edge of the tiny Deathstar begin to crumple in response, losing its rounded form. He turns his hand, causing great gouges to scrape along the edge with a wretched noise, and he figures this looks truer to form than the previous perfect sphere. “Don’t worry, Dameron, she’ll probably just have someone else handle it.”

Dameron stares at the half-ruined monument, then sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he looks straight past Ren to directly address Phasma. “Do you want a ride or not?”

~

Ren can feel Hux somewhere in the large apartment, a low roil of discomforted thought and relentless equations. He seems to also be cold, which is… Decidedly odd. The fixed temperature is rather pleasant.

He barely glances around the main level before turning his attention to the master bedroom, certainty turning quickly into frustration as he finds that Hux is literally nowhere – he isn’t even in the secondary rooms or the secondary refresher.

How is he hiding so well?

Ren exhales slowly and extends the Force once more, only to find the form of Hux in the same place he’d already determined and then summarily checked: the en suite refresher. He shoves through the door again with a sharp inhale, glancing into all the corners before exhaling in a growl, hand itching for his saber. He feels it land in his palm just as a heavy sigh echoes from… Somewhere.

His eyes narrow in on the bathtub, and he shuffles forward slowly, finger against the activator of his saber and feeling oddly wary.

The saber falls at his side with silent surprise at the unlikely picture he finds: Hux slumped into the bottom of the deep tub, head propped up by the small incline at the bottom, and knees even curled tightly to accommodate his height. He seems to be…

Ren has no idea what Hux is doing, but he’s definitely still completely clothed.

“I didn’t call for you,” Hux says, his voice a halfhearted tone of mocking. He declines to let Ren in on the joke, and Ren cannot even silently dig for it, still hitting a wall of inconvenient thoughts.

Ren scrapes his teeth hard over his lip, flicking his hand as he sends his saber back into the bedroom. “The bath is empty.”

“I am well aware,” Hux mutters, mouth barely moving as his eyes remain firmly downcast.

“Why did you leave us?” Ren says, feeling a fool for being forced to ask aloud. He should already know, but Hux is being difficult for seemingly no legitimate reason. “Phasma is very unhappy. You’ve pushed her to form amicability with Dameron.”

“Organa once mentioned hyper-drive improvements,” Hux says, head rolling against the stone of the bath to look at Ren. “I believe I’m going to test a prototype on my next ship, _Denouement_.”

Ren scowls, feeling a dissatisfied anger agitate against his mind before rapidly disappearing. He thinks Hux might be manipulating him, but it’s difficult to tell if it’s not just this unfamiliar pity shoving into all corners of his thoughts.

“No?” Hux says, tone lilting slightly even as his expression stays still as a statue. “You nearly believed me.”

“I want to,” Ren says, flexing his jaw and slowly tipping his head. “There is a difference, _Hux_.”

Hux narrows his eyes, expression finally shifting away from that troubling detachment, “Stop that.”

Ren frowns, hands curling up at his sides. He still hasn’t done a thing, unless Hux means the baffled staring, which he will probably stop in a few counts of never. He is in his full rights after being left in a foreign place, forced to accept transport from his mother’s personal aide.

“Imitating me,” Hux says, voice practically a hiss of disgust, colored with something entirely unfamiliar. “It doesn’t become you.”

Ren scrapes his teeth along his lip, finding it difficult to calm himself with Hux refusing to cooperate inside the norm. Arguably, Hux has often been rash, but it was usually in the manner of an ill-advised strategic move, not this infuriating, childish sullenness. He swallows tightly, reluctantly admitting the validity of Phasma’s earlier complaint: this is not _normal._

“Leave me,” Hux says, glancing up to Ren sharply and setting his mouth in a tilted sneer. “I wish to ruminate further.”

Ren shakes his head, “It has been over an hour.”

Hux narrows his eyes, vitriol growing obvious even behind his many thoughts of other matters. “Go _away.”_

Ren inhales hard as he blinks up at the softly-lit ceiling, a fading echo of odd fatigue the only indication something even happened to him. He lifts a hand and hesitantly presses his fingers to his temple, still perplexed even as he watches Hux practically hurdle out of the bath with an obvious urgency.

Ren’s not been overpowered so easily since he was an untrained child, and it hadn’t even _hurt_.

“Ren, Ren – are you awake?” Hux says, falling to his knees with an audible smack of bone against tile; his breath is falling in short, hasty gasps. He clutches wildly at Ren’s head, but his fingers are gentle as they press to his forehead. “Do you feel poorly?”

“What was it you did?” Ren says, watching with some confusion as Hux’s gaze shifts about with blow pupils, concentrating on something unseen. “I don’t remember.”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Hux murmurs, mouth folding into a miserable frown. His voice lowers, as if speaking only to himself, “There’s so much I don’t know – so much I cannot _control_.”

“Stop fretting over me,” Ren mutters, trying to find space to be more resentful –  to be wrathfully indignant – but it is abnormally difficult with how Hux’s hands have begun to shake as they try to smooth across his hair. “I am fine.”

A moment later, Hux’s head falls and presses hard into the side of Ren’s collar, lashes fluttering against the little amount of bared skin. He has stopped shaking, but the hunched position is an unwelcome echo of how Ren woke up just days ago, trying to gather his wits in an unfamiliar room, cold and sore, and realizing too late that the figure sobbing over him was Hux.

“It’s unnatural,” Hux mutters, voice muffled by the loose form of Ren’s hood.

Ren feels an urge to nod, agreeing wholly that the unpredictable manner Hux has recently been acting is uncharacteristic. His tight clutch of self-control is clearly still loosening in the worst manner possible, so much that even Phasma tried to blame the Force itself.

“The bond, you fool,” Hux says, but his movements don’t match the words, a few fingers still stroking over the side of Ren’s head. “I’m not capable of mutual bonds. Snoke had to have damaged something innate to make it happen.”

Ren resists the compulsion to mention Snoke did far worse than this to them, but it feels slightly untimely, and Hux still undoubtedly heard it. It’s been one of the better and worse benefits of Hux’s released power.

“The book it… It describes the inability as an infirmity,” Hux says, lifting his head with a twisted frown on his face, voice growing hard and bitter. His eyes are barely focused, gaze following his own hand as it strokes a lock of Ren’s hair from his cheek. “Something to bear with silent suffering.”

Infirmity is an odd manner to describe it, being as non-Force sensitives are much larger in number and equally unable. Ren is beginning to feel strongly vindicated in his nascent belief that this book may vaguely be some form of exploitation, and not simply because it appears to be nothing more than blank pages when he looks at it. Admittedly, it was certainly the only factor until now, listening to Hux insist, fifteen years too late, that their bond is too dangerous because it was induced by Snoke. 

“You have been far too impassive as of late, as if your previous self is disappearing,” Hux says, voice going tight and body curling loosely at Ren’s side. “If you would just listen to me about the importance of the block, then I would not have to consider a stronger severance.”

Ren twists his lips in a grimace, deciding summarily to forget the accidental use against his mind. He knows from experience that it could not have been particularly damaging if Hux was fine; Ren had done far crueler when they first met. He does not wish to contemplate what he might do if separated, “It did no real harm. I did worse than this as a youngling.”

“So did I, and younger,” Hux snaps, his jaw flexing so tensely that it looks as if it might shatter to pieces. “Do you truly not care that you might no longer be autonomous? Where is your pride?”

An involuntary flood of misdeeds fills Ren’s mind, and he hopes Hux witnesses the recollection of every one of them. It is so frustrating how quietly Hux must have come to this conclusion, though perhaps it is no surprise to find it hiding within all that neuroticism. He has always held a frustrating notion that if something is not perfect, then it must be broken; the opinion on their mildly flawed situation seems to have simply moved from being entirely Ren to being entirely on _himself_.

Ren draws his teeth hard over his lip, and impulsively shares the memory of the recently vandalized Deathstar, though tries to glance over the many crumbled ship sculptures. He hadn’t planned on trying to hiding it, as it would be impossible, but he rarely enjoys bragging about his more thoughtless indiscretions to Hux. He has very little sympathy for such far-reaching losses of control.

Hux remains silent for a long few moments, “You did _what_?”

“I was angry,” Ren says, swallowing tightly as he feels the gentle fingers tighten in his hair.

“That is going to cost thousands of credits,” Hux says, voice regaining a semblance of his usual thoughtless spite. His mind is losing that terrible fear to the strength of his aggravation. “We’re trying to find allies, you absolute _imbecile_. The violent progeny of Darth Vader cannot be going around destroying the memorials commemorating his defeat.”

Ren twists his head in Hux’s grip, wincing as it pulls tighter at his hair. He deliberately catches Hux eyes, narrowing his own, “But did you make me – Did you _want_ me to do it?”

Hux plainly grinds his molars at the suggestion, but he keeps his mouth shut, more of his active thoughts finally peeking through: as usual, he is entirely unwilling to give up his point. He’s apparently been studying Ren’s reactions, and without taking into account the fact they have been embroiled in this situation with equal lack of check. Hux has been acting more impetuous in the same measures that Ren has been acting less.

Ren realizes belatedly that this is what Phasma must have gone into a fit over; her humor leaves much to be desired.

“I was going to destroy the refresher a few minutes ago, too,” Ren says, pressing his lips together and tempted to retrieve his light saber again; perhaps Hux would appreciate a visual example of independence. “The shower, particularly. I like the way glass melts against the blade.”

Hux narrows his eyes, noticeably swayed despite his reticence. It seems to be the most convincing argument, and he is now focusing on the more conventional exasperation. He would never have permitted Ren to destroy something so violently with little more than a meter between them.

Ren rolls his eyes with a halfhearted sneer, reaching up to curl a hand around the back of Hux’s neck and laying a thumb against the tense line of his jaw. “Even if it is aberrant, it’s not… Harmful. Not for me. Us. We have done so much that we never could have without it.”

“Trying to garner my favor with thoughts of conquest?” Hux says, tutting softly and releasing the hard curl of his hand from Ren’s scalp. He draws his fingers down Ren’s neck, ending against the loose shape of his hood. “Shameless.”

Ren shrugs, difficult as it is with his shoulders twisted half on the floor and half against Hux’s knees. Hux has held the same histrionic fantasy for over a decade, and it’s not a particularly difficult weakness to exploit as long as Ren is very subtle.

 “You still don’t remember much of the encounter with Snoke,” Hux says, gaze sliding sideways as he slowly pinches his lips into a flat, pale line.

Ren raises his eyebrows in honest surprise; Hux has outright declined to be at all forthcoming with explanation since it transpired, and this is the most Ren has heard of it in the entire intervening time. “I would if you permitted me to see what happened.”

“You can witness the nightmares, as you are so want to do,” Hux says, his mind a sudden, vicious rant of displeasure. “I feel no reason to consciously torture myself.”

“They’re exaggerations at best,” Ren says, giving into the temptation and shifting his hand to stroke the tense line of Hux’s neck. The dreams have so far been a muddled remembrances of a spiraling black abyss, attention shifting between Ren being an ally, an enemy, and then suddenly, bafflingly Darth Vader, which Ren is fairly certain is just his own vain addition to the dream. “I die in most of them.”

Hux tightens his jaw, a tired sort of resignation surfacing at being forced to address it. “You _did_.”

“I was dead,” Ren says, and while he doesn’t exactly remember it, neither can he think of anything else that would drive Hux to physical tears. In fact, before it had truly happened, he would have thought Hux was too taciturn to show such sentiment. “But I didn’t _die_.”

Hux inhales with a wave of timely exasperation, glancing downward at Ren with a short shake of his head. He has an unflattering thought against Ren’s intelligence, but there is a certain strange feeling behind it.

Ren gnaws at his lower lip, glancing just past Hux’s shoulder. He wonders if this conversation would have been half as painful if Hux had just given in to something faintly selfish. “The bath is much more pleasant with water. Hot water.”

“I wasn’t looking for pleasant,” Hux says, a tight snap of forced irritation in his tone as he pushes Ren away from him. “I was… Utilizing your usual method of response.”

Ren narrows his eyes, wondering if he had missed something in his search through the apartment. It had seemed in perfect shape, but he had been rather distracted…

“Dramatizing, you brat,” Hux says, huffing low and standing with a fluid shift of his legs to the left and upward. He stares down at Ren, narrowing his eyes just slightly, “Well?”

“Ah,” Ren says, glancing from Hux to the bath, and feeling a prickle of excitement crawling up his back. He had pressed for it, but never really thought Hux would agree, “Really?”

“We’re leaving this horrible system in six hours,” Hux says, already pulling apart the buttons at his sleeves. “So I will allow you this, even if it results in my dry skin from bathing twice in a single day.”

Ren immediately stands and begins pulling at the cloak around his neck, the garment suddenly feeling like a noose. Once it is off, cast in the corner near the preferred sonic shower, he finds Hux already taking off his uniform in the bedroom, and takes initiative to approach the bath himself in mild curiosity.

He hums low, fingers gently activating the control pad and finding entirely more options than he remembers from being seven and spoiled, left behind in the rooms during the days his mother dealt with war and politics. He gently presses a mildly familiar, three-sided icon, exhaling in relief when it produces water and not some sort of perfume or salt.

Ren watches it fill as he slowly removes the rest of his clothing, sparing a grateful thought for the thousandth time in only a few hours that Hux hadn’t insisted he wear anything similar to that supposed uniform from last night. The other had been mostly ruined, but it would not have surprised Ren at all to discover a similar one waiting for him this morning.

A hand slides up the bare skin of Ren’s back, and he leans into it as Hux hums low with appreciation, though it’s unclear if it is for the bath or the torn skin of Ren’s back. A hard press of fingers against one of the more severe gashes leans the opinion significantly toward his back.

“You can heal these, I gather?” Hux says, tracing another line with light, teasing fingers.  “Or is that some odd limitation.”

“I can,” Ren says, glancing backward and catching his own reflection in a far mirror. He looks no different than this morning, when he had stared with embarrassing appreciation at the marks trailing up the left of his neck like a leash; the dark red lines curling over his shoulder blades like pauldrons. The fondness for the image is made more embarrassing by the mildly smirking, completely nude Hux standing just at his side, and he turns his head before he can witness the actual flush sneaking up his neck.

He pulls away from Hux’s hand and climbs into the high-walled bath with far less awkwardness than he once had, sinking into into the steaming water. He is hardly the first person Hux has left such marks on, though the mere thought coils tight into an uncomfortable pain in his chest. He disposed of many of them anyway, and hopefully their memories went along with their pathetic bodies.

“Actually, you’re quite wrong,” Hux says, humming low and leaning down to test the water with a slide of his fingers across the surface. His thoughts are elsewhere, on the long-faded bite from their first time. “I never quite understood the appeal of such personal marking. Thought it barbaric.”

Ren watches Hux’s tight expression for a moment before glancing down at the cautious hand, just centimeters from collarbone. “Like water baths.”

“Similarly,” Hux agrees, a wry twist at the corner of his lips. He lifts the wet hand and cuffs it against Ren’s chin, leaving behind a cooling streak. “Perhaps you’ll manage the admirable triumph of changing my mind twice.”

Ren frowns, catching a baffling thread of apprehension and momentarily diving further into Hux’s mind, worried it is more of the earlier fear only to find something completely odd. “You’re not going to drown. It’s just a bath.”

“Drowning in a bath is easily done,” Hux says, an irritation at Ren’s prodding navigating both his mind and his expression. He shares an entirely unambiguous image of a young girl, still and unmoving under the harsh lights of a familiar med-bay.

“The attendants did not keep watch?” Ren says, feeling his mouth curling up in repulsion.

“I assure you, Ren,” Hux says, raising his eyes with an attempted look of mocking authority, but the wariness underneath too strong to be completely hidden. “I have never seen anyone _accidentally_ drown. The particular girl had a congenital disease.”

Ren swishes the deep, warm water for a few moments, then glances up to Hux. “I am not going to drown you.”

Hux raises an eyebrow, mouth pinching as a nettled thought surfaces in his mind. “I held no inclination you would.”

Ren wonders if he should say something, perhaps that Hux could simply… Not bathe, but he’s glancing up in surprise before the words have left his mouth, blinking when a thin ankle enters his frame of vision and the rest of Hux following thereafter. He blatantly ignores Ren’s silent urging to lean into him, and instead settles into the other end of the tub, both long legs alighting onto Ren’s left thigh as he momentarily dips his head back and under the surface.

“What did you do so often in baths, anyway?” Hux asks, relaxing onto the edge with his head propped against the rim, unintentionally licentious as his neck stretches back to reveal his throat. “You’re oddly obsessed, and evidently not sexually.”

“They’re good to nap in,” Ren says, ignoring his own flush and realizing a little late how untimely it is to mention such a thing just after discussing drowning children. He glances down, lifting a hand to skim over the gleaming surface, “And… Mentally bolstering. I often used to read or play hologames. Or practice control.”

It was also one of the few places he could escape Threepio’s overbearing attempts to make up for his parents’ neglectfulness. He doesn’t feel the need to mention it aloud.  

“Practice control?” Hux repeats, a distinct, mocking lilt to his tone. “Perhaps the _Denouement_ should have had baths.”

Ren rolls his eyes, flicking his fingers upward and urging a portion of water to follow suit. A shaky globe curls around in front of Hux’s gratifyingly surprised expression, before solidifying into an opaque, perfect sphere. He lets it drop back into the tub, watching as it bobs around in a listless manner.

Hux reaches forward, both hands curling around the ice with a low hiss. “I didn’t know you could do this.”

“I found the technique in a holocron when I was young,” Ren says, twisting his hand to lift the ice from Hux’s loose grip and forcing it back into the air. He narrows his eyes for a short moment, then exhales slowly in concentration, watching as the ice slowly disappears into a thin mist. “It didn’t mention how utterly useless it would be in practical terms.”

“Can you also siphon it back from the air?” Hux asks, raising his arm completely from the water and then gesturing in an apparently deliberate manner, a cyclical motion just above the area the ice disappeared. “Like a living vaporator… Ah, you’ve never tried. Disappointing.”

“The holocron neglected to depict that,” Ren says, sinking into the water only slightly and ignoring the edge of amusement from Hux. It seems so obvious now, of course, but he had been very young, so it’s not entirely his fault for missing a few possible applications.

Hux rolls his eyes and bafflingly turns sideways, his diverted attention decidedly odd until Ren remembers the controls for the bath are inlaid on that side. Hux seems to have become decidedly more curious about the bath than wary, and Ren absently hopes he doesn’t decide his time would be better spent taking it apart.

“It certainly has a fascinating amount of options,” Hux says, leaning forward and pulling up the extensive option display. “I feel as if many of them defeat the purpose.”

Ren frowns, glancing past Hux and at the exposed display, trying to understand exactly what he is so eagerly insulting. He finds it difficult to believe the manufacturers would employ anything too uncalled for.

“Oil for one,” Hux says, swiping through a display that is like a series of sabacc cards with more odd symbols. “The salt makes sense, as do the perfumes, but – Ah, Bantha milk? Disgusting.”

Ren raises an eyebrow, mildly bemused, “You can discern all the shapes?”

“They’re basic assignations,” Hux says, gaze sliding to Ren with a vaguely disappointed lance of thought. He narrows his eyes, voice lowering, “There were notices up in all the cafeterias, Ren.”

Ren clicks his tongue, glancing away and out the dimmed wall of window. He hardly ever bothered to take meals with others anyway, aside from Hux a few times, and he certainly didn’t have _notices_.

“Clearly, I should have,” Hux mutters, tapping at a few buttons on the display and then leaning back with a thoughtful frown.

Ren twitches slightly at the abrupt sound of bubbling, staring down at the water as it begins to grow misty, “You actually chose something?”

“It was a preset,” Hux says, shrugging one shoulder with a short glance to the display. “It was called Hoth, for some baffling reason. I assume after the miserable system.”

Ren hardly thinks Hux should dare speak about miserable systems, when Starkiller was largely no different. He shudders as an improbable chill crawls across his shoulders.

Hux gives an unpleasant glare, irked by Ren bringing up the weapon, even if without audible words. He skims his palm over the surface of the water. “It had a lovely summer.”

“Until you started testing it,” Ren says, recalling the slow alteration of the terrain, trees dying from the cold and leaving much of the planet a drab, skeletal forest. The planet had practically served as a metaphor for itself. “Cannot have a summer without the _sun_.”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t keep up with that tan – oh wait,” Hux pauses, eyes narrowing with a distinctly unkind edge. The sudden caricature of Ren in his mind isn’t particularly cruel, but nor is it flattering. “You covered yourself head to toe in black, and have done the entire time I’ve known you. It is truly a shock that you don’t have vitamin deficiency.”

“That does not mean I appreciate being cold,” Ren says, sinking further into the steaming water and feeling the warmth spread up his shoulders. The mere memory of that miserable weapon of a planet makes him long for a desert. “The bowels of the Finalizer were warmer. You had that coat for a reason.”

“Perhaps,” Hux says, practically sighing with the memory of the soft wool. He regrets that he still has not retrieved it. “It is a lovely piece of workmanship. Perhaps I should have thanked Snoke for it before he died.”

Ren scoffs low, eyes sliding to the side. Of course, thank _Snoke_.

Snoke probably wouldn’t have blinked if Hux caught hypothermia and ended up in the stomach of a roaming slitherac. It would have been considered nothing more than an inconvenience to his long-term plan, especially knowing now how he actively planned for Hux to die.

“You’re just being cross now,” Hux mutters, one of his legs lifting and nudging Ren across the chest. “It’s a coat.”

“None of your contemporaries’ had a coat made from gaberwool,” Ren says, lifting his eyes with a narrow glare.

Hux stares for a long moment, then raises his eyebrows, thoughts losing their derisive edge to something more perplexed and surprised. He still only barely believes the implication, even after a pointed inspection of honesty, “Why?”

Ren shrugs, reluctant to outright admit that he didn’t enjoy seeing, or feeling, or _listening_ to Hux suffer, even when they barely spoke to each other without vitriol and resentment. The requisitions officer had been surprisingly weak-minded, consenting to commissioning the unconventional material with an almost cheery response to the mind trick. Ren had not even needed to forcibly insist he was allowed to sanction the requisitions and demands form.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Hux says, but it seems to make it easier for him to believe the assertion. “You hold equivalent rank to me, which is certainly high enough to simply ask.”

“Gaberwool is very luxurious,” Ren mutters, stirring up the now pale-blue, opaque water with a single hand. It is oddly scented too, almost fruit-like. “Excessive. Very unlike the Order.”

“Oh, quiet,” Hux says, sighing deeply and sinking further into the water to dip his head again, legs curling up warm and slick against Ren’s abdomen. He smirks as he emerges, humming with scornful thought, “Is that why you’re so cross about Mitaka having it – wasted effort?”

“No,” Ren says, scoffing low and feeling like snarling at the insinuation. Hux has long allowed Mitaka to get away with far too much. “That lieutenant has a terrible obsession with you.”

“I know,” Hux says, outright dismissive despite acknowledging the truth of the statement. “It’s harmless worship.”

Ren narrows his eyes, honestly uncertain if Hux’s light tone is really all that much of a joke. He grabs the shape of one of Hux’s knees, thumb digging hard into the edge of the cap, and nearly misses the quick smirk at the corner of Hux’s mouth.

Ah. He’s being toyed with, which is entirely unsurprising.

“You’ve got a terrible possessive streak,” Hux says, eyes narrowing with a distinct edge of coyness, though inwardly he is mostly concentrated with mocking Ren’s self-control. “I imagine the only way you kept it so hidden was with all that slaughter.”

Ren flexes his jaw and glances away, a prickle of frustration bubbling up from deep in his chest. It is not a manner of a possession, but one of impertinence, which is what all of those worthless wretches held in spades.

Hux has abysmal taste in partners; all he seems to look for is willingness to flatter.

Ren’s eyes slide sideways in reflex, barely having time to react as a hand swiftly appears in his frame of vision, summarily heaving down hard on the crown of his head and forcing him completely under the water. He takes a moment to appreciate the heat spreading across his skin and into his hair before he shoves Hux’s hand away, using a short press of Force that he feels against his own skin.

Hux has settled over Ren’s thighs in his distraction, the wide bath giving room for him to perch with little discomfort. His arms wind loosely around Ren’s neck, elbows digging into shoulders as he practically looms with a decidedly wicked frown.

“Do not dare mention my taste in partners,” Hux says, pinching the soft skin at the side of Ren’s neck between his nails. “You’re the worst of them.”

“I am _better_ ,” Ren insists, a low weight of resentment forming hard in his throat; he will not stand to be insulted.

“You are appalling,” Hux says, tugging at a wet lock of hair and then stroking it across Ren’s ear. “Nothing more than a sodden beast.”

Ren roughly combs the rest of it out of his eyes, some absent part of him startling at the overly silky texture. A softening agent must be in the concoction drained into the water. “You’re just the same, if more scaly.”

“ _Cheeky_ ,” Hux says, a thumb sliding down and pressing into the thickest part of Ren’s bruised neck. His lips twist into a barely restrained smirk, and he deliberately pulls Ren’s hair back into his face, “Just look at you.”

Ren huffs low, rolling his eyes to the side. “What?”

“There is some sparkling agent in the water, and it stands out against all that dark hair,” Hux says, running his fingers through individual locks with an odd sort of gentleness. He tuts, leaning in close with a short, teasing kiss to Ren’s crown, “You’d make such a lovely whore.”

“I’m not the one with a whoremonger’s bounty,” Ren says, swallowing back a bizarrely strong lash of resentment. He glances down, catching the sheen on Hux’s skin; he has no room to tease for glitter.

“Don’t be so cross,” Hux says, leaning down and briefly catching Ren’s lips. He tastes of whatever is in the bath: fruit and some kind of flowery softening soap that is oddly pleasant. “I simply forgot your station, prince.”

“Hux,” Ren mutters, hunching as he tries to repress the spread of heat against his neck and cheeks; the blush is probably ugly and obvious against the pale water.

“Very,” Hux murmurs, voice mocking as if his entire body is not always tinted red in every manner imaginable. He runs his hands under the water and over the planes of Ren’s chest, swiping ungently at a nipple with a slick slide of fingers.

Ren imagines taking hold of Hux’s hips and pressing him to the other end of the bath, using this oddly slick and soft water to –

“Yes,” Hux breathes, arms curling back up and around Ren’s neck, hips grinding down with little subtlety, and the slide of him practically torment against Ren’s hardening dick. He grabs Ren’s hand when he shifts forward, though, a cruel contradiction, “No, I – It would be a rather unbecoming way to die.”

An unwelcome memory of being largely unable to move just last night, and each time prior, is practically shoved into Ren’s mind with a bizarre sort of urgency. It is some comfort that Hux seems to suffer a similar loss of faculty.

“Maybe the next time we’re forced to this system,” Hux mutters, sliding both hands through Ren’s wet hair, the water so soft it barely even pulls against his fingers. “After the novelty has worn away.”

Ren draws his teeth against his own lip, absently churning the water around them in his aggravation. “I hope it doesn’t.”

“Then you’ll have to let go of this fantasy,” Hux says, abruptly shifting backward and to his prior position, though now his knees curl just under Ren’s, folding them together. He wants nearly as bad, and the restraint is probably just some vindictive show of his renewed control.

Ren scowls, exhaling hard through his nose before sliding down and dunking his head under the water. He listens to the soft hiss of the pump, the dulled scrape of his own hands touching the walls of the bath, and forces his body to relax from the measly few seconds of sexual frustration. It is difficult with the warm water making it so pleasing, but his shoulders soon lose much of their tension, and the slightly satisfying burn of his lungs takes up most of his concentration.

A quick, very hard kick against his thigh immediately brings him out of the mild stupor.

He yelps, bubbles sweeping against his face as he tastes the water against his tongue, and he lifts his head to the surface with a fervent choke of air. He rubs at the tender spot for a moment, thinking of the bruise that he’ll be suffering, and glances up to Hux with a bemused glare.

“You were under there entirely too long,” Hux says, an unusual, visible flush of embarrassment appearing high on his cheeks.

“I am not going to drown _myself_ ,” Ren says, shoving his hair up and out of his eyes.

“Regardless,” Hux says, mouth pressing into a thin line. His earlier concern is a frantic trail of thought, though of an entirely different lilt that threads into the reluctance for a bath.

Ren ignores the urge to roll his eyes, instead glancing over the suddenly tight shoulders of Hux for a few moments. He twists a hand under the water, ignoring the snap and stab of angry, exasperated thoughts as he gently pulls Hux to his side of the bath, and then relieving the discomfiting pressure against his own back by lifting his arms to physically pull Hux’s stiff shoulders into his chest.

It’s not exactly what Ren had envisioned, but it is very much close enough.

Hux continues to insult him silently for a long burst before actually deigning to open his mouth. “I don’t know where you get these ideas, but your access to the holonet is being revoked.”

Ren smirks, pressing his lips to Hux’s nape and slowly sliding his hand over Hux’s chest, gently digging a thumb into the spaces between his collarbone. “I’m not going to die.”

“Do not patronize me,” Hux says, though his voice lacks the usual bite as he finally consents to lean back into Ren. A tight hand curls around Ren’s wrist just as something cold and black strokes through Hux’s mind, quickly disappearing underneath other thoughts. “Of course you’re going to die. We both will.”

“What is that slither of black you keep envisioning?” Ren says, a childish sort of urgency coming over him. He feels strangely like Hux might finally answer his questions. “Is it some metaphor?”

“No,” Hux mutters, a deep-seated reluctance making his voice almost hoarse. He shifts, head soon leaning back onto Ren’s shoulder, and his voice lowering almost to a whisper. “Snoke held knowledge to strip someone of their mind and control their body. The form of it was ghastly.”

Ren inhales against a foreign hitch in his chest, hesitantly pressing his cheek to Hux’s hair. He recognizes with some melancholy that it explains the mutilated state of Tyr. He had hardly been the best fighter in the troupe, and Ren had stared down at his body, wondering why he would fight so hard in a losing battle.

It had not been Tyr at all.

“Do not ask me anything else,” Hux says, exhaling with a slow, almost unsteady breath. He has closed his eyes, fingers still curled around Ren’s wrist, “Ever.”

~

“I cannot believe I fell asleep,” Hux says, voice low and just slightly bothered. He had pretended a bizarre relaxation on the shuttle up to the Citadel, even suffering Phasma’s teases, but now he is very clearly eager to attempt removal of the imperceptible remnants of the bath. “My skin feels terribly odd. If I disrobe to a giant rash, I will be furious.”

“I was content to use simple water,” Ren says, keeping his voice disinterested as he glances at the many conference rooms along the hall separating the executive lift and the main command bridge of the Citadel. He has never held reason to be wander here before, but Hux seems to know the path.

“Perhaps you should have explained that motivation,” Hux says, curling his hands over each other in a manner that appears a dramatic caricature of scheming.

“I held no reason to,” Ren says, resisting the strong impulse to reach out and feel the soft skin for himself. “Nor did I mind falling asleep.”

“You’re so useless,” Hux mutters, tilting his head to the side in acknowledgement as a passing Trooper squad salutes him. He doesn’t seem to notice the way they warily glance at his hands.

Ren hums low, stopping at the main door for Hux to precede him. “As you say, General.”

“No, Lord Ren,” Hux says, pausing and leaning in close just as the door slides open, his earlier disdainful tone smoothing to silk. “ _Imperator_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the bath](http://www.vaselli.com/public/resources/eventi/cersaie-2013/thumb/cersaie-2013-4_1600x1200.jpg), which is entirely too big for reality. It was also going to be a lot more of a smut thing, which I actually wrote, only to realize far too late I had set precedents that would make it a Very Bad idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, this isn't like too terribly disappointing an epilogue/sequel for anyone, being from Ren's point of view rather than Hux's, and largely consisting of a personal opinion regarding the Core-world philosophy. 
> 
> Also, I found out quite recently that Hux and Kylo Ren aren't meant to be the same age? However, I started this series way back before an apparent tweet occurred, so in this fic and in the many that I am currently writing, they are of an age difference similar to the actors. I am worried there would be a creep factor going on in the prior fic, and I want to assure anyone who held concerns that it was 100% not the case.
> 
> I feel like I should put this on everything, but perhaps having this precedent will be enough.


End file.
